Like all men, Emerson grows very impatient over the necessary deliberations of shopping. If it were left to him, he would simply point to the first object of its kind he saw and order a dozen. His grumbling and fidgeting were checked, however, when I had the pleasure of telling him that I had got the loan of five more camels from Captain Griffith.

'How the devil did you do that?' he asked admiringly. 'These cursed military men - '

'Are British officers and gentlemen, my dear. I persuaded them that since the animals in question are not yet fit for the arduous trips the Camel Corps makes, they can just as well recuperate at our camp as here. Captain Griffith was kind enough to express full confidence in my veterinary skills.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson. But he said it very softly.

We picked up the camels and a supply of medication for them, and loaded our purchases. The weight of them was negligible compared to the loads camels are accustomed to carry, and I was careful to see that it was done properly, placing pads over the healing sores on the beasts' backs and sides and adjusting the saddles to protect them. I was surprised to see how quick Kemit was to understand the reasoning behind these procedures, and how adept at carrying them out.

'He seems quite an intelligent individual,' I said to Emerson, as we rode side by side out of the village. 'Perhaps he can be taught some of the excavation techniques, as you did with the men of Aziyeh. How I miss our friends, dear old Abdullah and his son and grandsons and nephews!'

'I was thinking the same thing, Peabody. Kemit is clearly a mentally superior individual. If his fellow tribesmen are as capable... Ha! Speak of the devil!'

Two men had appeared from among the palm trees, so suddenly and silently that they might have materialised out of thin air. They were attired in the same short trousers and long mantles. Kemit advanced to meet them; after a brief conversation he came back to Emerson. 'They will come. They speak no English. But they will work. They are faithful.'

We mounted Kemit's friends on two of the camels - which they bestrode with a facility that indicated considerable familiarity with that means of transport - and resumed our journey. The gait of the camel does not permit comfortable conversation; I resolved to wait until Emerson and I were alone before raising the subject of Reginald Forthright and my husband's unacceptable behaviour.

However, when the desired condition of privacy was at last attained, other considerations soon intervened, and when they had been concluded (to the satisfaction of both parties), I am bound to confess that Reginald Forthright was the last subject on my mind.

Kemit and his two attendants proved to be all that he had claimed and more. They not only worked tirelessly and carefully at any task assigned them, following directions to the letter, but they all - Kemit especially - proved astonishingly quick at learning the methods of excavation we used. Naturally we rewarded them by giving them increased responsibility and respect (though I hope I need not tell the Reader that we treated all our men with the same courtesy we would have accorded English servants). They were not popular with the villagers, whose insular parochialism made them view even members of nearby tribes as strangers, but the trouble I half expected did not occur. Kemit's crew kept aloof from the others; they built themselves a little tukhul some distance away from the men's camp and retired there as soon as the working day was over.

We usually began work at an early hour, after only a cup of tea, and then paused for breakfast in mid-morning. It was while we were at this meal on the day after our return from the camp that I found an opportunity of speaking with Emerson about Mr Forthright. He had mentioned Mr Budge, remarking, in his bluff manner, 'I caught a glimpse of a familiar fat form strutting around camp yesterday, in the company of some of the officers. Did you happen to run into him, Peabody?'

'Indeed I did,' said I. 'He and I had the honour of lunching with General Rundle. You were invited, Emerson.'

'They couldn't invite me because they couldn't find me,' Emerson said smugly. 'I had a notion some such thing would happen; that is why I kept out of the way. And you see, Peabody, how well it turned out. It's difficult enough to be civil to a group of military blockheads; Budge would have been too much for me. Bragging and boasting as usual, I suppose?"

'To some extent. But it was not his bragging that would have been too much for you.'

'What, then?' Emerson's countenance darkened. 'Did he have the effrontery to admire you, Peabody? By heaven, if he so much as touched your sleeve - '

'Oh, come, Emerson. You must get over this notion (flattering though it may be) that every man I meet falls madly in love with me. Mr Budge has never shown the slightest indication of doing so.'

'He has not the delicacy of taste to appreciate you,' Emerson agreed. 'So what did he do, Peabody?'

'He was kind enough to inform me - and the officers - that Mr Reginald Forthright is on his way here, having been invited by you to join an expedition in search of the Lost Oasis.'

Fortunately Emerson had finished his tea. Otherwise I am convinced he would have choked. I will spare the Reader a description of the broken, incoherent outcries that escaped his lips. With his accustomed quickness he had immediately grasped that the result of Budge's statement must be to make him an object of ridicule, and this seemed to be the major theme of his complaints. Interspersed with the curses which have made Emerson famous along the length of the Nile Valley, his comments rose to a pitch that was audible at some distance. The men turned to stare, and Kemit, who was waiting for instructions, opened his eyes very wide - the first sign of emotion I had seen on his composed countenance.

I suggested that Emerson moderate his voice. He fell silent, and I went on, 'When last heard of, Mr Forthright had got as far as Wadi Haifa. I had not expected the young man would have such determination. He must have had strong encouragement to proceed, don't you think?'

'I do not engage in idle speculation concerning the motives of individuals with whom I am barely acquainted,' Emerson replied.

'Then you did not invite - '

'Curse it, Amelia...' Emerson caught himself. It creates a bad impression for leaders of an expedition to quarrel openly before the men - or for the parents of a child like Ramses to disagree. He went on in a more moderate voice. 'I certainly did not encourage Mr Forthright to come to Nubia. Quite the reverse.'

'Ah. So you did communicate with him before we left England.'

Emerson's cheeks turned a handsome mahogany shade and the dimple in his chin quivered ominously. 'And you, Peabody - weren't you moved to send a sympathetic message to the bereaved old father?'

It was a shrewd hit. I believe my countenance remained relatively unmoved, but Emerson knows me too well to be deceived. His tight lips relaxed and a humorous gleam brightened the brilliant blue of his eyes. 'Cards on the table, Peabody. If this young idiot is about to descend upon us, we must know precisely where we stand. I did write to Forthright. I assured him that we would make inquiries, and that if - I underlined the word twice, Peabody - if we discovered anything that substantiated the possibility of Forth's survival, we would communicate with him and his grandfather at once. I fail to see what was wrong with that, or how he could possibly have construed it as a promise or an invitation.'

'I said essentially the same thing,' I admitted. 'To Lord Blacktower.'

Ramses had been uncharacteristically silent up to this point, his wide dark eyes moving from my face to that of his father as we spoke. Now he cleared his throat. 'Perhaps Mr Forthright has received additional information. It would be difficult for him to pass it on to us through the usual channels; the telegraph is reserved for the military, and our whereabouts have been uncertain.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson thoughtfully.

'Well, we can only wait and see,' I remarked. 'There is no way of heading Mr Forthright off, so we had better get as much work as possible accomplished before he arrives.'

Emerson scowled at me. 'His arrival will not affect my activities in the slightest, Peabody. How many times must I repeat that I have no intention of going off on a wild-goose chase?'

'But if it were not a wild-goose chase, Papa?' Ramses asked. 'One could not abandon a friend if there was any hope of rescue.'

Emerson had risen. Fingering the cleft in his chin, he looked down at his son. 'I am glad to find, Ramses, that your principles are those of an English... that is, of a gentleman. I would move heaven and earth to save Forth, or his wife, if I truly believed either of them still lived. I don't believe it, and it would take overpowering evidence to convince me I am wrong. So much for that. Now, Kemit. I want to do some digging around the second of the pyramids in line - this one.' Unrolling his plan, he indicated the structure in question. 'Lepsius shows a chapel on the southeast side. There are no signs of it now, but the cursed scavengers can't have carried away every cursed stone; there must be some traces left. Confound it, we need to find some inscriptional material, if only to identify the builders of these structures.'

'Why do you lecture the poor fellow, Emerson?' I inquired softly. 'He doesn't understand a word you are saying.'

Emerson's lips curved in an enigmatic smile. 'No? Did you understand, Kemit?

'You want to know who made the stone houses. They were the great kings and queens. But they are gone. They are not here.'

Arms folded across his broad breast, he intoned the words like a priest reciting a mortuary formula.

'Where have they gone, Kemit?' Emerson asked.

'They are with the god.' Kemit's hand moved in a curiously fluid gesture from the horizon to the vault of the sky, now pale with heat.

'I pray that is so,' said Emerson courteously. 'Well, my friend, let us get on with it; our work will make their names live again, and in that, as you know, was their hope of immortality.'

They went off together, and I thought, not for the first time, what an impressive pair they made - and Emerson not the lesser of the two.

'Ramses,' I said absently - for part of my attention was concentrated on the graceful and athletic movements of my spouse's admirable form - 'as soon as you have finished at number six, I want you to move your crew to the largest Pyramid, and join me.'

'But Papa said - '

'Never mind what Papa said. He has succumbed to his lust -er - he has postponed his surveying in favour of excavation; he cannot complain if I do the same. The largest pyramid surely belongs to one of the great kings, Piankhi or Taharka or Shabaka. The superstructure has completely collapsed, but there must be a burial chamber underneath.'

Ramses stroked his chin. For a moment he looked uncannily like his father, though the resemblance was one of gesture and expression rather than physical likeness. 'Yes, Mama.'

A few days later my crew had moved several tons of stone without finding any trace of the entrance to the burial chamber, and Emerson had shifted his crew from the pyramids of the southeast row to a smaller, half-fallen structure behind them. Shortly after sunrise on the Wednesday I was electrified by a cry that echoed weirdly across the sandy waste. I at once hastened to the scene, and found Emerson hip-deep in his excavation trench. 'Eureka!' he cried in greeting. 'At last! I think we've hit on the chapel, Peabody!'

'Congratulations, my dear,' I replied.

'Get the rest of the men over here at once, Peabody. I want to deepen and widen the trench.'

'But, Emerson, I have not yet - '

Emerson wiped the sand from his perspiring face with his sleeve and gave me a comradely grin. 'My dear, I know you are aching to find some beastly collapsing tunnel into which you can crawl, at the risk of life and limb; but it is imperative that we clear this area as soon as possible. As soon as the locals get wind of our discovery, gossip and exaggeration will transform the find into a treasure of gold and gems, and every human rodent in the neighbourhood will start burrowing.'

'You are right, Emerson,' I said, sighing. 'I will of course do as you ask.'

It took several hours to enlarge the trench so as to expose fully the stones he had found, and to take careful notes of their precise location. As we measured and sketched, while the sun beat down and the sand filled our mouths and nostrils, I would have given a good deal to have a camera. I had proposed bringing one, but Emerson had vetoed the idea, pointing out that the cursed things were cumbersome and unreliable -except in the hands of a trained photographer, which we did not have - and that the efficient use of them required other equipment which was not easy to procure - clean water, chemicals, and the like.

Unfortunately one of the men turned up a few scraps of gold foil. I say unfortunately, for there is nothing that arouses the treasure-hunting instincts and the (alas!) concomitant willingness to commit violence for its possession more quickly than the aureus metal. Shining like the sun, soft enough to be easily worked, incorruptible, since time immemorial it has aroused in men a lust passing the love of women, not to mention their fellow men. The very name of Nubia is derived from the ancient Egyptian word for gold. It was for gold beyond all other treasures, that the pharaohs sent traders and armies into the land of Gush. I would not be at all surprised to find that it was for gold that Cain committed the first murder. (It happened a very long time ago, and Holy Writ, though no doubt divinely inspired, is a trifle careless about details. God is not a historian.)

There was undoubtedly a great deal of gold in Nubia at one time, but as Emerson remarked, studying the pitiful scrap in his big brown hand, there didn't seem to be a lot left. However, I felt it incumbent upon me to take over the task of sifting the soil removed from the trench - and a tedious, hot task it was.

The sun was far down the west and the shadows were lengthening, and I was looking forward to a sponge bath and a change of clothing (and perhaps a small whiskey and soda) when one of our less industrious workers, who spent more time leaning on his shovel than he did using it, cried out in surprise.

'Have you stabbed your foot again with your shovel, careless one?' I inquired sarcastically.

No, Sitt Hakim - no. There is a camel coming, and a man upon the camel, and the camel is running, and the man is about to fall off the camel, I believe; for look, Sitt Hakim, he sits the camel as no man who wishes to remain upright sits upon -'

But I heard no more, for I had seen what he had seen and had realised that for once his appraisal of the situation was fairly accurate. The rider was not sitting on the camel, he was listing dangerously from side to side. Hastening to meet him, I addressed the camel with an emphatic 'Adar ya-yan, confound you!'

The camel stopped. I whacked it with my parasol, but before it could kneel (supposing that it had intended to do so), the rider slid from the saddle and fell unconscious at my feet.

The rider was, of course, Mr Reginald Forthright. I had anticipated this, as I am sure the Reader must have done.

'He Is the Man!'

'Good Gad!' said Emerson. 'I wonder if the fellow makes a habit of introducing himself in this fashion, or if we have a particularly unfortunate effect on his nerves. Peabody, I absolutely forbid you to touch him. It may well be that your unnecessarily demonstrative attentions last time inspired this -'

'Don't be absurd, my dear.' With a strange sensation of deja vu I knelt beside the young man. He was lying on his back this time, in a particularly graceful attitude; but what a change from the well-dressed, neatly groomed individual who had fallen upon our hearth-rug a few weeks earlier! His suit had been cut by an excellent tailor, but it was crumpled and stained. Sunburn had scorched his cheeks and peeled the skin from his nose. His hat (a fashionable but inappropriate tweed cap) had fallen from his head; from under the sweat-darkened curls on his brow a thin trickle of blood traced a path across one cheek.

Emerson had been the first on the scene, but the others soon followed, and curious spectators ringed us round as I dampened my handkerchief from the canteen at my belt and wiped the young man's flushed face. The response was prompt. As soon as consciousness returned, a flush of embarrassment further reddened Mr Forthright's cheeks, and he began stammering apologies.

Emerson cut them short. 'If you are stupid enough to wear wool clothing in this climate and go racing around in the hot sun, you must expect to be overcome by the heat.'

'It was not the heat that caused my collapse/ Forthright exclaimed. 'I was struck on the head by a stone, or some other missile. Another struck my camel, which bolted, and... Good heavens!' He sat up, catching at my shoulder for support, and levered an accusing finger. 'There is my assailant - that man there!'

He was pointing at Kemit.

'Nonsense,' Emerson said. 'Kemit has been working at my side all afternoon. Do you often suffer from hallucinations, Mr Forthright?'

'Then it was a man very like him,' Forthright said stubbornly. 'Tall, dark-skinned -'

'As are most of the male inhabitants of this region.' Emerson leaned over him and with ruthless efficiency parted the curls on his brow. Forthright flinched and bit his lip. 'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'There is no swelling, only a small nick in the scalp. No stone caused this injury, Mr Forthright; it was a sharp-edged object like a knife.'

'What difference does that make, Emerson?' I demanded. 'Mr Forthright was obviously attacked - though not by Kemit, who, as you have said, was with us at the time. I suggest we retire to the shade and partake of some liquid refreshment while we discuss the situation. Mr Forthright has a good deal of explaining to do.'

'That is certainly true,' said Emerson, his brows lowering. 'But I have no intention of stopping work early on his account. Take him away, Peabody, and see if you can get any sense out of him.' Beckoning the men to follow, he stalked off, still complaining. 'What the devil are we going to do with him? He can't go back to the camp alone, he'd get himself lost and fall off the cursed camel again and knock himself unconscious and die of exposure or thirst or both and it would be on my

The words died into an unintelligible but still audible grumble. 'He is right, you know,' I remarked, assisting Forthright to rise. Tt was extremely foolish of you to start out in search of us alone.'

'I was not alone,' Forthright replied gently. 'My servants were with me. It is not their fault that I so far outstripped them. They were attempting to follow when I last saw them, and I expect they will be here before long.'

'That must be them now,' said Ramses.

'"They," not "them,"' I corrected. 'Ramses, what the dev -why are you still here? Papa told you to get back to work.'

'I beg your pardon, Mama, but I did not hear Papa address a direct order to me. Admittedly the general tenor of his comments suggested that he wished the work to resume, but in view of his failure to make a specific -'

'Never mind,' I said.

'Yes, Mama. I had thought I might start a fire to boil water for tea.'

'What a thoughtful lad,' said Forthright, smiling at the boy. 'It is easy to see that he is devoted to his dear mama.'

'Hmmm, yes,' I said, studying my son with mixed emotions. Like his father he seized every excuse to remove his clothing, and since by hook or crook (design or accident, rather) he managed to ruin his nice little Norfolk suits, no matter how many of them I brought along, I was forced to allow him to rely to some extent on locally available attire. At this time he was wearing the trousers of one of his suits and a pair of boots, but from the waist up he might have passed for an Egyptian youth. Upon his black curls he had clapped a cap woven in bright red, yellow, and green patterns, and his coarse cotton shirt was one I had fashioned from a native robe by cutting off several feet of the length.

'Well,' I said, 'so long as you are here, Ramses, you may as well make yourself useful. Go and meet Mr Forthright's servants and take them... somewhere. Anywhere that is suitable for a temporary camping site - er - so long as it is some distance from -' 'From the tent of Papa and yourself,' said Ramses. 'Quite. I am afraid you will have to rough it tonight, Mr Forthright. We have no extra tents or cots. We were not expecting guests.'

'But of course I brought my own equipment and supplies, Mrs Emerson,' said the young man, adding with a little laugh, 'You had no way of knowing when I might arrive, so I could hardly expect you to provide for me.'

His eyes were as candid as those of Ramses. (More so, in fact.) 'When you might arrive,' I repeated. 'Quite so. We have a good deal to talk about, Mr Forthright. Follow me, if you please.'

The shades of night had fallen before Emerson called a halt to the excavation and dismissed the men. The last half hour of work had been punctuated with curses and exclamations of pain as individuals fell into or over various obstacles, for it was really too dark by then to see what one was doing. Emerson had gone on beyond the usual time, in order to prove... Well, one wonders precisely what. But that is the way of the masculine sex, and a woman can only accept these minor aberrations in what is in many ways a thoroughly satisfactory part of the human race.

Mr Forthright and I were sitting in front of the tent, enjoying the crackle and colour of our little fire when Emerson brushed past us with a mumble of greeting and vanished into the tent. I had thoughtfully lit a lantern for his convenience; he promptly kicked it over and proceeded with whatever he was doing in utter darkness and relative silence. Only the splash of water and an occasional swear word betokened his presence. However, when he emerged at last, with his black hair curling on his brow and a clean shirt clinging to the muscular breadth of his shoulders, he was obviously in a better mood, for he gave me a surreptitious caress in passing and actually nodded at Mr Forthright. Our evening ablutions were a great deal of trouble because every drop of water had to be fetched from the Nile, over a mile away, and filtered before it could be used, but I felt they were a necessity rather than a luxury, raising the spirits even as they cleansed the body. I am sure I need not say that they were my idea. Left to himself, Emerson would not have changed his shirt from the beginning of the week to its end. If, that is, he wore a shirt at all.

'We have been waiting for you, my dear,' I said pleasantly. 'Late as it is, I believe there is time for a sip of our usual beverage. We should drink a toast to Mr Forthright, and the perils he has survived.'

Emerson filled the glasses and passed them around, ignoring the hand Ramses had extended. Ramses never gave up hope that Emerson would absent-mindedly include him in the evening ritual - not so much, I think, because he liked the taste of whiskey as because it represented maturity and equal status with his parents.

'And what perils has Mr Forthright survived?' Emerson asked sarcastically.

'Only the ordinary dangers of travel in this region,' the young man replied modestly. 'Mrs Emerson has convinced me that the attack this afternoon was one of them. A disaffected follower of the late and unlamented Mahdi, perhaps.'

'There are a good many disaffected persons in the area,' said Emerson. 'Myself among them. No doubt you have explained your presence to the satisfaction of Mrs Emerson; she is a kind-hearted individual with a peculiar weakness for romantic young idiots. You will find me harder to win over, Mr Forthright.'

'I don't blame you for being annoyed, Professor,' Forthright said. 'As soon as I arrived at Sanam Abu Dom, I found that Mr Budge's version of my mission had spread throughout the camp. It really is too bad! I had not imagined a man of his reputation would be so ill-natured. But perhaps he was only misinformed.'

'He was not misinformed,' Emerson growled.

'Well, you may be sure I immediately set the matter straight. On my honour, Professor, he or his informant completely misinterpreted my remarks and my motives. I have no intention of persuading you to risk your life for a hopeless cause. I simply wanted to be on the spot in case... You had said, you know, that if any further information came to light...' The explanation which had begun so glibly faltered into silence. Then Mr Forthright said simply, 'If there is a risk to be taken, I am the one to take it. You have heard nothing - learned nothing?' 'No,' said Emerson.

'I see.' The young man sighed. 'My grandfather has become very frail. It is hope alone that keeps him alive, I believe.' I began, 'Mr Forthright - '

'I beg, Mrs Emerson, that you will do me the honour to call me Reginald - or Reggie, if you prefer. That is what my friends call me, and I hope I may number you among them.'

'You may indeed,' I said warmly. 'Emerson, Reggie has undergone considerable discomfort, not to say peril, in order to pursue this quest, or convince himself that it is hopeless. And all for the sake of his poor old grandfather. Proof of his son's death would be exceedingly painful to Lord Blacktower, but it would be less painful than the agonising uncertainty that has tormented him. Hope deferred can fester and grow - '

'Yes, yes,' Emerson said. 'So how do you intend to pursue this quest, Mr Forthright?'

Darkness was complete. A shining net of stars spanned the deep vault of heaven, and in the west a silvery glow outlined the ragged crest of the hills. It flooded the landscape in pallid light as the half-grown moon lifted slowly into view. From the cookfire a voice rose in poignant melody.

'How beautiful this is,' Reggie said softly. 'To have experienced such a moment makes the journey worthwhile. Travel broadens the mind, it is said; it has certainly broadened mine. I understand now what drew my uncle to these wild, yet magical regions.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'It is one thing to sit comfortably in the cool of the evening with a glass of whiskey in one's hand and a servant preparing dinner. You wouldn't find it quite so magical if you were lost in the desert with an empty canteen and the sun broiling you like a chicken on a spit and your tongue as dry as a scrap of leather. You haven't answered my question, Mr Forthright.'

'Oh.' The young man started. 'I beg your pardon, Professor. There are refugees arriving daily, I am told, from the areas which have been held by the Dervishes. The officers of the Intelligence Department who question them have promised me they will ask about captives held in remote places.'

'That seems harmless enough,' Emerson muttered.

'And while I wait for news, I will take up the study and practice of archaeology,' Reggie went on gaily. 'Can you use another pair of hands, Professor? I have some knowledge of surveying, but I will wield a spade like the humblest native if that is what you want.'

This handsome offer was welcomed by Emerson with less enthusiasm than it merited, but after voicing the expected (by me) reservations concerning lack of experience and absence of a long-term commitment, he unbent so far as to produce his plan of the site. The ensuing explanation soon took on the length of a lecture, which was interrupted only by the appearance of the cook summoning us to the evening meal. As soon as it was consumed, Reggie expressed his intention of retiring, pleading fatigue, and we soon followed suit; for our working day began at sunrise.

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 realised 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 "ito sarcasm. 'The Bowmen of Gush 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 familiarise 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 or 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 our own modest quarters, Reggie's were positively palatial. The tent was large enough to accommodate several people, and every possible comfort had been supplied, from rugs upon the sandy floor to a folding bathtub.

'Good heavens,' I exclaimed. 'What, no champagne glasses?'

'Not even champagne,' said Reggie with a laugh. 'However, brandy travels well, I believe; I hope you and the professor will join me in a glass after dinner tonight.'

The camels were in need of my attention - which was not surprising, considering the loads they had carried. Reggie's servants looked on with ill-concealed derision as I applied ointment to the festering sores on the poor beasts' sides, but their grins disappeared when I addressed them in forcible and idiomatic Arabic. There were four of them, three Nubians and an Egyptian, a native of the Thebaid, who answered (like about half his countrymen) to the name of Ahmed. When I asked him what he was doing so far from home, he said, 'The Effendi offered much money, Sitt. What is a poor man to do?'

Reggie decided he did not need a rest, and followed me back to my tent. He was as cheerful and eager to please as a large, clumsy dog, so I allowed him to help me with the accounts. The men were to be paid that evening. We kept separate pay sheets for each individual, since the amount they earned depended upon the number of hours worked plus extra for each important discovery. 'By paying the fair market value for artifacts, we remove the incentive to theft, 'I explained, adding wryly, 'Unfortunately, thus far we have had to pay very little extra.'

'The site does appear to have been thoroughly ransacked,' Reggie agreed, with a disparaging glance at the tumbled piles of stone that had once been pyramids. 'How much longer will you stay here if nothing of value turns up?'

'You still don't understand, Reggie. It is knowledge, not treasure, we seek. At the rate we are going, it will take the entire season to finish here.'

'I see. Well, this appears to be the last memorandum, Mrs Emerson. The men will be off to their villages this evening, I presume; do you and the professor stay here, or are you going to the encampment?'

After considerable discussion and a good deal of profane and fruitless argument, Emerson had finally agreed to let the men leave early so they could reach their homes before dark, providing they returned the following evening. I explained this to Reggie, adding that I had planned to visit the market in Sanam Abu Dom next day to purchase fresh vegetables and bread. 'But if you are going, Reggie, you could shop for me and save me the trip.'

A shadow crossed the young man's smiling face. 'I must go, Mrs Emerson. Having beheld the vast and threatening face of the desert, I begin to realise how fruitless my quest must prove, but...'

'Yes, of course. I will give you a list this evening, then. I uegest you wait until morning; travel after dark is fraught with perils.

'You need not argue that,' Reggie replied. His hand went to the neat bandage I had applied to the cut on his brow, and he glanced over his shoulder at Kemit, who was resting in the shade nearby. 'I suppose it could not have been that fellow who attacked me, but I swear to you, Mrs Emerson, it was a man so like him it might have been his twin. What do you know of him?'

'His village, which was destroyed by the Dervishes, is south of here. He was not more precise; as you know, Western notions of distance and geography are unknown to these people.'

'You trust him, then?' Reggie's voice had dropped to a whisper.

'You need not lower your voice, he only understands a few words of English. As for trusting him, why should I not? He and his friends have worked faithfully and diligently.'

'Why is he staring at us?' Reggie demanded.

'He is looking, not staring. Come now, Reggie, admit that your suspicions of Kemit are unjust and unfounded. You couldn't have got a good look at your assailant, since by your own account you didn't realise anything was wrong until the missile struck you.'

After a few more hours of work, Emerson called a halt and summoned the men to the table where I sat ready to hand out their wages. 'Curse it,' he remarked, taking a seat at my side, 'we must think of another arrangement, Peabody. They are so anxious to get away, they haven't done a bloo - blooming thing all afternoon.'

'The only alternative is to return to our original plan of letting them leave early Friday morning,' I replied.

Then they will have to return Friday night,' Emerson declared. 'Otherwise they won't be here until mid-morning on Saturday and will complain that they are too tired after their long walk to put in a good day's work.'

At least the men did not linger to argue about the amount of their pay; they were anxious to be safe at home before the dread demons of darkness came out of hiding. As they dispersed I closed the account book and remarked, 'Supper tonight will be out of tins, gentlemen; cooking is not an activity at which I excel or in which I care to do so.'

'My servant Ahmed is an excellent cook,' Reggie said. 'It was one of the skills for which I selected him. Perhaps you will all do me the honour of being my guests at dinner this evening.'

I accepted with proper expressions of appreciation. After Reggie had gone off to his tent, Emerson remarked sourly, 'It wouldn't surprise me to see him turn out in full evening kit. I warn you, Amelia, if he does I will go and dine with Kemit.'

'Mr Forthright brought a considerable quantity of luggage,' said Ramses, sitting cross-legged at my feet. 'In addition to a revolver, he has two rifles and quantities of ammunition as well as -'

'He probably plans to do some hunting,' I replied, thinking it best not to ask Ramses how he knew of these facts.

'Should that be the case, I will feel myself obliged to remonstrate,' said Ramses in his stateliest manner.

'Just so you don't run into the line of fire, as you have been known to do,' I said sternly. 'You spend far too much time interfering in other people's business, Ramses. Come and give me a hand; there are several hours of daylight left and I want to have a closer look at those small piles of debris south of number four. I suspect they may have been queens' tombs - for even in Gush, where women enjoyed considerable power, the ladies were shortchanged in the matter of pyramids.'

Emerson decided to join us, and we spent a most enjoyable hour poking around the rubble and arguing about where the burial chambers might be. Ramses, of course, had to disagree with me and his father. 'We cannot assume,' he claimed, 'that because the burial chambers in Egyptian pyramids were, for the most part, under the superstructure, that such was the case here. Remember Ferlini's description of the chamber in which he found the jewellery that is now in the Berlin Museum - '

'Impossible,' I exclaimed. 'Lepsius agrees with me that Ferlini must have made a mistake. He was no archaeologist -'

'But he was there,' said Ramses. 'Herr Lepsius was not. And with all due respect, Mama - '

'Hmmm, yes,' Emerson said quickly. 'But, my boy, even if Ferlini did find a burial chamber in the upper portions of one pyramid, that could have been an exception to the general rule.'

His attempt at compromise failed, as such efforts generally do. 'Nonsense!' I exclaimed.

'That is not the point, Papa, if you will excuse me,' said Ramses.

The debate continued to rage as we walked back to our tents. Few families, I venture to assert, share so many agreeable interests as ours, and the freedom and candour with which we communicate our opinions to one another only adds to our mutual pleasure.

I had brought along one good frock just in case - for one never knows when one may encounter persons of a superior social status. It was a simple evening dress of eau-de-Nil spotted net, the bodice cut low and square, the skirt flounced, with pink silk roses trimming the flounces and the short puffed sleeves. By allowing Emerson the privilege, which he much enjoys, of buttoning me into the frock, I managed to persuade him to wear a jacket and change his boots for proper shoes, but he refused to wear a cravat, claiming that he had taken up archaeology as a career primarily because a cravat was not part of the official costume for that profession. However, as I had to admit when he pressed me, Emerson's personal appearance is so striking that the absence of a particular article of clothing does not diminish the effect in the least.

I then went in search of Ramses, for it was safe to assume he would wash only the parts of him that showed. As I trailed my eau-de-Nil flounces across the sandy ground, wincing as pebbles pressed through the thin soles of my evening slippers, I could almost have wished that Emerson had not placed the boy's little tent so far from our own. His reasons for doing so were excellent, however, and on the whole the advantages far outweighed the disadvantages. (Even in the light of what happened soon afterwards I maintain that opinion.)

Ramses had not washed even the parts that showed. He was perched on a campstool in front of the packing case that served as desk and table combined. It was littered with scraps of paper and he was busily scribbling in the battered clothbound notebook that accompanied him everywhere.

He greeted me with his usual punctilious courtesy, more becoming a grave old gentleman than a little boy, and begged for another minute of delay so that he could finish his notes.

'Oh, very well,' I said. 'But you must hurry. It is rude to be late when one is invited to dine. What notes are those, that are so important?'

'A dictionary of the dialect spoken by Kemit and his friends. The spelling is, of necessity, phonetic; I am using the system derived from -'

'Never mind, Ramses. Just make haste.' Looking over his shoulder I saw that he had arranged the vocabulary by parts of speech, leaving several pages for each. None of the words was familiar to me, but then my knowledge of the Nubian dialects was extremely limited. I was happy to observe that Kemit's instruction had not included any words to which I could take exception, with the possible exception of a few nouns applying to certain portions of human anatomy.

When Ramses had finished he offered me his campstool, which I took outside, lowering the tent flap as I left. Several years earlier Ramses had requested the privilege of privacy when he performed his ablutions or changed his clothing. I was perfectly happy to accede to this request, for washing small dirty squirming boys had never been a favourite amusement of mine. (The nurserymaid in charge of Ramses at the time had made no objection either.)

I had asked Emerson to join us when he was ready, so I was content to wait; the sunset was particularly brilliant that evening, a blaze of gold and crimson that contrasted exquisitely with the deepening azure of the zenith. Against this tapestry of living light the jagged contours of the pyramids stood out in dark outline, and as any thoughtful individual might do, I mused upon the vanity of human aspiration and the brevity of human passions. Once this tumbled wilderness had been a holy place, adorned with every beautiful and good thing (as the ancients expressed it). Chapels built of carved and painted stone served each stately monument; white-robed priests hastened about their duties, bearing offerings of food and treasure to be placed upon the altars of the royal dead. As the shadows deepened and the night crept across the sky, I heard the soft rush of beating wings. Was it the human-headed soul bird, the ba of some long-vanished pharaoh, returning to partake of food and drink from his chapel? No. It was only a bat. The poor ba would have starved long ages ago if it had depended on the offerings of its priests.

These poetic thoughts were rudely swept away by Emerson blundering towards me. He can move as quickly and quietly as a cat when he chooses; on this occasion he did not choose, because he was not in the humour for a social engagement. I must say that he seldom is.

'Is that you, Peabody?' he called. 'It is so dark I can scarcely see where I am going.'

'Why didn't you bring a lantern?' I inquired.

'We won't need it; the moon will be up soon,' said Emerson, with one of those bursts of striking illogic of which men constantly accuse women. 'Where is Ramses? If we must do this, let's get it over with.'

'I am ready, Papa,' said Ramses, lifting the flap of the tent. 'I took pains to make myself as tidy as possible, given the circumstances, which are not conducive to the easy attainment of that condition. I trust, Mama, that my appearance is satisfactory.'

Since he was only visible as a dark shape against the darker interior of the tent, I was hardly in a position to make a valid judgment. I suggested that he light a lantern, not so much because I wanted to inspect him - further delay would have driven Emerson wild - but because night had fallen and the roughness of the ground made walking difficult, particularly for a lady wearing thin-soled shoes. So equipped, we set out. At my request, Emerson gave me his arm. He likes me to lean on his arm, and since Ramses preceded us with the light, he was able to make a few gestures of an affectionate nature, which further soothed his temper, so much so that he made only one rude remark when he saw the elegant arrangements Reggie had made for our reception.

Candles graced the table, which was covered with a cloth of gay printed cotton. This must have been purchased at the suk, for I had seen others like it there. The pottery dishes had come from the same source, but I felt sure the wine had not; even the enterprising Greek merchants had not imported expensive German hock. The carpet on which the table had been placed was a beautiful antique Oriental, its deep wine-red background strewn with woven flowers and birds. I could only admire the taste that had chosen the best of the local crafts, and the kindly care that had taken so much trouble for guests. People make fun of the British for maintaining formal standards in the wild, but I am of the school that believes such efforts have a beneficial effect not only upon the participants but upon the observers.

Ahmed's cooking lived up to his master's claims and the wine was excellent. Emerson unbent so far as to take a glass, but he refused the brandy Reggie offered at the conclusion of the meal, despite the latter's urging. Out of politeness I joined the young man, and was pleased to observe that he was as abstemious as I, restricting himself to a single glass of brandy. 'It will keep,' he said with a smile, as Ahmed carried the bottle away. 'But perhaps I should share it with my men - a special treat, on the eve of their holiday -'

Emerson shook his head, and I said emphatically, 'On no account, Reggie. Liquor is one of the curses the white man has introduced into this country. The military authorities, quite rightly, keep a strict control over the amount of alcohol that is brought in. It would be doing these poor people a disservice to introduce them to drunkenness.'

'That is no doubt correct, Mama,' said Ramses, before Reggie could reply. 'But does not that view smack somewhat of condescension? Alcoholic beverages were not unknown before Europeans came here; the ancient Egyptians were particularly fond of both beer and wine. Even young children - '

'Beer and wine are not as harmful as spirits,' I said, frowning at my son. 'And all of them are harmful to young children.'

Emerson was beginning to fidget, so I thanked Reggie for his hospitality and we started back towards our tents. The moon had risen. It was only halfway to the full, but its light was bright enough to make the lantern unnecessary. The soft silvery rays of the goddess of the night cast their spell of magic and romance. (The wine may have had a certain effect as well.) Emerson's pace quickened, and I was not reluctant to be hurried along. We left Ramses at his tent with affectionate, though somewhat abbreviated, good-nights, and made haste to reach our own.

There is nothing like strenuous physical exercise to induce healthful slumber. I slept soundly that night. It was no ordinary, audible noise that roused me, but something I took to be a voice, penetrating my dreams with the shrill insistence of a cry for help. It summoned me with that imperative instinct which nestles deep within a mother's breast, oft-tried though it may have been. I tried to answer; my voice died in my throat. I attempted to rise; my limbs were weighted down.

The weight shifted, and Emerson, cursing sleepily, rose to hands and knees. He was gone before I could stop him, but I took comfort in the fact that he was wrapped in one of the loose native robes, the sudden drop in temperature during the night having apparently prompted this departure from custom. My own nightgown was voluminous enough to be modest, if not exactly suitable for walking abroad; I paused only long enough to slip my feet into my boots and snatch up my parasol before rushing in pursuit of my husband.

The source of the disturbance was, as I might have expected, near the tent of Ramses, where I saw a singular tableau. One body lay prone upon the ground. Another stood over it, fists on its hips. A third, smaller form sat, pallid and immobile as a limestone statue, several feet away.

'Peabody!' Emerson bellowed.

I put my hands over my ears. 'I am just behind you, Emerson, you needn't shout. What has happened?'

'The most extraordinary thing, Peabody. Look here. He's done it again! This is ridiculous. It's one thing to collapse at the slightest provocation, or none at all, I was becoming accustomed to that; but to wake people up in the middle of the night - '

'It is not a faint this time, Emerson. He is wounded -bleeding.'

It was not until my fingers actually touched the sticky wetness that I realised the truth. Like Emerson, Reggie wore a native robe, but his was dark blue in colour 'Light, Emerson,' I exclaimed. 'I must have light. Ramses, fetch the lantern. Ramses? Did you hear me?'

'I will light the lantern,' Emerson said. 'The poor lad is a trifle dazed still, after having been wakened so abruptly.'

I went to Ramses. Even when I bent over him he seemed to be unaware of my presence. I took him by the shoulders and shook him, insisting that he speak to me. (And I must say it made rather a change for me to ask Ramses to talk instead of trying to get him to stop.)

He blinked at me then, and said slowly, 'I think I was dreaming, Mama. But I came when you called.'

The chill that seized my limbs was not the product of the cold night air. 'I did not call you, Ramses. Not until just now. You called me.'

'How very odd.' Ramses stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'Hmmm. We must discuss this situation, Mama, and compare our impressions of what occurred. Is that Mr Forthright lying there on the ground?'

'Yes, and he is more in need of my attentions than you seem to be,' I replied, considerably relieved to find that Ramses was himself again. 'Bring the lantern here, Emerson.'

Emerson let out a startled exclamation when the lamplight illumined the fallen man. 'I beg your pardon, Peabody, I thought you were up to your usual... Ahem. He does seem to have bled rather profusely. Is he dead?'

'No, nor likely to die, unless the wound becomes infected.' I turned Reggie onto his back and opened the robe to expose an arm and shoulder more admirably muscled than one might have expected. 'It is not so bad as I feared. The bleeding seems to have stopped. And - good heavens! Here is the weapon that wounded him. It was under his body.'

I picked it up by the haft and handed it to Emerson. 'Curiouser and curiouser,' he muttered. 'This is no native knife, Peabody, it is good Sheffield steel and bears the mark of an English maker. Could he have fallen on it?'

'Never mind that now, Emerson. He ought to be carried to his tent, where I can attend to him properly. Where the dev -the deuce are his servants? How could they sleep through such a racket?'

'Drunk, perhaps,' Emerson began. Then a voice from the darkness said quietly, 'I am here, Lady. I carry him.'

So it happened that the first sight to meet Reggie's eyes was the tall form of Kemit, advancing into the circle of lamplight. A sharp cry burst from the lips of the wounded man. 'Murderer! Assassin! Have you returned to finish me off?'

'Mr Forthright, you are becoming a bore,' Emerson said impatiently. 'My thanks, Kemit; I can manage him.' He lifted the young man into his mighty arms.

Reggie's head fell back against Emerson's shoulder. He had lost consciousness again. I had to agree with my husband; Reggie was becoming a bit of a bore, especially on the subject of Kemit. what had he been doing so far from his own camp in the middle of the night?

On hands and knees, his nose so close to the ground that he resembled a hunting dog on the trail of a rabbit, Ramses was examining the spot, hideously stained with blood, where Reggie had lain.

'Get up from there, Ramses,' I said in disgust. 'Your morbid curiosity is repugnant. Either return to your cot or come with me.'

As I had expected, Ramses chose to come with me. When we reached Reggie's tent, Ahmed was there, rubbing his eyes in an ostentatious and unconvincing fashion. 'Did you call, Effendi?' he asked.

'I certainly did,' said Emerson, who certainly had, his shouts having made the welkin ring. 'Confound you, Ahmed, are you blind as well as deaf? Can't you see your master is injured?

Ahmed gave a theatrical start. 'Wallahi-el-azem\ It is the young effendi. What has happened, Oh Father of Curses?'

Emerson proceeded to prove his claim to that title, to such effect that Ahmed soon had the lamps lit and his master's couch prepared. Reggie had brought a well-equipped medical kit. It did not take long for me to clean the wound and bandage it. It was hardly more than a shallow cut and did not even require stitching.

A little brandy soon restored Reggie to his senses, and his first words were an apology for having caused me such trouble.

'What the devil were you doing outside my son's tent in the middle of the night?' Emerson demanded.

'Taking a walk,' Reggie replied faintly. 'I could not sleep, I know not why; I thought some exercise might do me good. As I drew near the boy's tent, I saw... I saw...'

'Don't talk anymore,' I said. 'You need to rest.'

'No, I must tell you.' His hand groped for mine. 'You must believe me. I saw the tent flap open and a pale, ghostly form appear. It gave me quite a start until I realised it must be Master Ramses. Naturally I assumed he was - he felt the need...'

'Yes, go on,' I said.

'I was about to withdraw when I saw another form, dark as a shadow, tall as a young tree, glide towards the boy. Ramses went slowly towards it. They met - and the dark shape stretched out its arms to grasp the boy. The gesture broke through my naralysis of surprise, realising that danger threatened Ramses, I rushed to his aid. Needless to say, I had no weapon. I grappled with the man - for a man it was, with muscles like bands of rope, who fought with the ferocity of a wild beast.' The effort of speech had exhausted him, his voice faltered, and he said feebly, 'I remember nothing more. Guard the boy. He...'

I put my finger on his lips. 'No more, Reggie. You are exhausted by shock and loss of blood. Have no fear, we will watch over Ramses. May the grateful thanks of his devoted parents console you for your injuries, and may you sleep in peace, knowing that you -'

'Harrumph,' said Emerson forcibly. 'If you want him to rest, Amelia, why don't you stop talking?'

It seemed a reasonable suggestion. I instructed Ahmed to watch over his master and call me at once if any change in his condition occurred. As we retraced our steps I suggested to Emerson that Ramses had better spend the rest of the night with us.

'He may as well,' said Emerson. 'There is not enough of the night left for... Ramses, what have you got to say for yourself?'

'Quite a good deal, Papa,' said Ramses.

'I thought as much. Well?'

Ramses took a deep breath. 'To begin with, I have no recollection whatever of leaving my tent. I saw no mysterious dark form, I saw no struggle.'

'Ha,' Emerson exclaimed. 'Then Forthright lied.'

'Not necessarily, Papa. He may have exaggerated the ferocity of the struggle; I have observed that men do when they are attempting to prove their valour. What woke me was a summons, as I thought - a voice calling my name, with considerable urgency. I took it to be Mania's voice, and responded; but I have no clear memory of anything beyond that until Mama took me by the shoulders and shook me.'

We had reached our tent. I got out the extra blankets and made a sort of nest for Ramses beside our sleeping mats, but when I would have settled him on them, he resisted. 'One more thing, Mama. When you saw me searching the ground - '

'I suppose you were playing detective. A very silly habit of yours, Ramses; you are only a little boy, after all. You should have left that to Mama and Papa.'

'It occurred to me that if the assailant had left any clue, he might return and remove it before morning,' said Ramses.

'Criminals are not so careless as to leave incriminating evidence lying about, Ramses. You have been reading too many romances.'

'No doubt that is generally the case, Mama. But this criminal did leave evidence. I presume it was torn from his head in the struggle.'

From the folds of his voluminous white nightgown he produced an object that he offered for my inspection. It was a cap, of a type with which I was very familiar, though this example was a good deal cleaner than most of the ones I had seen on the heads of Egyptians. It was not a popular item of dress in Nubia, where most men preferred a turban.

'Hmph,' said Emerson, inspecting it. 'The pattern resembles some I have seen in Luxor. Could Forthright's assailant have been his own servant? He's an insolent sort of fellow.'

'Reggie would surely have recognised him,' I said, shaking my head. 'None of our men wear such a thing, but a clever malefactor might assume an object of attire as a disguise, or...'

Here I stopped, and gazed with a wild surmise upon my son, who returned my stare with an expression so limpid-eyed and innocent it was practically tantamount to a confession. The art of disguise was one of Ramses's hobbies. He was somewhat restricted in the practice of it, since his size limited him to imitating only the juvenile portion of the population, but I had a nasty feeling that as his height increased, so would his expertise.

'Ramses,' I began; but before I could proceed, Ramses produced another strange object.

'I also found this near the scene of the crime, Mama. To my mind it is even more provocative than the cap.'

Emerson let out a muffled exclamation and snatched the thing from the boy's hand. At first glance I could see nothing to explain the concentrated attention with which he regarded it. It was a shaft of what appeared to be reed, only a few inches long; the jagged end suggested it had been broken off a longer object. The other extremity ended in a bit of wood, to which was attached a blunt, rounded stone shaped like a miniature club. At the point where the wood joined the reed, a band of pierced decoration ornamented the shaft and, one presumed, helped to hold the two together.

'What on earth?' I exclaimed.

Emerson shook his head, not in denial but in dazed disbelief. 'It is an arrow, or part of one.' 'There is no point,' I objected.

'This is the point, or pile, as it is called in archery.' Emerson's fingernail flicked the rounded stone. 'It is attached to this piece of wood, which is in turn tanged to the shaft. Footed, in other words. The point is blunt because it was designed to stun, not to kill.'

'I see.' I leaned over to examine the object more closely, noting the delicacy of the decoration. 'It reminds me of something but I can't remember where I saw it.'

'No? Then I will refresh your memory.' Emerson's eyes remained fixed on the broken arrow. 'The hunting scenes in the Theban tombs - that is where you saw such an arrow. This is identical with the weapons used by the nobles of ancient Egypt when they hunted fowl in the marshes. Identical, Peabody. Except that it cannot be more than a few years old.'

The Ghost of a Bowman of Cush

Long after I had sought my couch Emerson sat silent in the lamplight, turning the broken shaft over and over in his hands with the absorbed fascination of a connoisseur inspecting the rarest of gems. He had thrown off his robe; shadows moulded the broad bands of muscles on his breast and arms; shadows sculpted his strong cheekbones and intellectual brow and deepened the dimple (or cleft, as he prefers to call it) in his manly chin. It was a sight to stir the strongest sensations, and since I was forced by circumstances to repress them, they left a lasting imprint upon my heart.

Well, of course I knew what he was thinking, even though he had refused to discuss the matter. For one thing, he was afraid I would remind him of his careless jest concerning Reggie's earlier injury. 'The ghost of one of the Bowmen of Cush,' he had said; and here, before our very eyes, was a fragment of an arrow that might have been carried by one of those very archers. Mayhap the bow had not been used in this area for a thousand years - I was willing to take Emerson's word for that - but one of the ancient names for Cush was 'Land of the Bow,' and 'Commander of the Bowmen of Cush' was a military tide of the Late Egyptian Empire.

I fell asleep at last, and when I awoke I was alone. An unnatural silence prevailed. No shouted commands, no sound the tuneless singing with which the men lightened their labours... Then I remembered that it was the day of rest, and that the men were gone. Still, it was strange that Emerson had taken pains not to waken me; stranger still that Ramses had managed to leave the tent without making a racket of some kind. A hideous foreboding seized me, and I hastened to rise.

For once my foreboding portended nothing in particular. I found Emerson seated in a chair before the tent calmly drinking tea. He greeted me with a cheerful good morning and the hope that I had slept well.

'Better than you,' I said, remembering my last glimpse of him the night before, and noting the shadows of sleeplessness diat darkened his eye sockets. 'Where is Ramses? How is Reggie getting on? Why didn't you wake me earlier? What - '

'The situation is under control, Peabody. I will make you a cup of tea while you change into more suitable attire.' 'Really, Emerson -'

'Mr Forthright will be joining us shortly. His injury was less severe than you believed. Curious, isn't it, that his injuries always are less severe than you believed them to be? I don't blame you for exposing yourself to him last night in that fetching but flimsy garment - I make all due allowances for your understandable state of agitation - but a repetition of the error might be taken amiss.' 'By you, you mean.' 'By me, my dear Peabody.'

Torn between annoyance and amusement, I retired and followed his suggestion. When I returned I found them all assembled - Ramses squatting on the rug, Reggie seated in a chair next to Emerson. He leapt to his feet with an alacrity that went far to support Emerson's assessment of his condition, and insisted on offering me a chair before he reassumed his own.

It is a great relief to see you looking so well,' I exclaimed, taking the cup Emerson handed me. 'You had lost a great deal of blood -'

'Obviously the blood was not his,' said Emerson. (Lack of sleep always makes him short-tempered.)

'Quite right,' Reggie agreed. 'As I told you, I grappled with the fellow -'

'A most courageous act,' said Emerson. 'For you were unarmed, were you not? A man going for a peaceful moonlight stroll does not ordinarily carry a weapon.' 'No, not ordinarily. I - er - '

'Is the knife yours, Forthright?' Emerson whipped it out of his pocket and brandished it under Reggie's nose. 'No! That is.'

'For heaven's sake, Emerson, stop interrupting him,' I exclaimed. 'How can he explain what happened when you won't let him finish a sentence?

Emerson glowered at me. 'The implications of my questions must be obvious to you, Amelia. And to Mr Forthright. If he -' 'They are indeed obvious, Emerson. It is your tone to which I object. You do not ask, you interrogate, like - ' 'Curse it, Amelia - '

A burst of hearty laughter from Reggie ended the discussion. 'Please don't quarrel on my account, my friends. I understand what the professor is getting at, and I don't blame him for having doubts. As he says, a man bent on a peaceful errand does not go armed. I might claim that a sensible man would go armed in this region, but had I feared encountering a wild animal or wilder man, I would have strapped on my revolver or carried a rifle.' 'Precisely,' Emerson growled.

'It did not occur to me to take such a precaution,' Reggie continued. 'It happened just as I told you. Seeing the shadowy figure about to seize the boy, I flung myself upon him. He drew a knife; we struggled for possession of it, and after being wounded slightly I got it away from him. To be honest, I don't remember clearly what happened afterwards, but I have a vague recollection of striking a blow and hearing a muffled cry before unconsciousness overcame me.'

There was a brief silence. Then a voice murmured, '"Yet who would have thought the old man had so much blood in him..."'

Emerson nodded. 'Well put, Ramses. Your mama will no doubt be happy to hear you quote from a more literary source than your favourite thrillers. There was a great deal of blood.'

'And your retainer has disappeared,' said Reggie.

'What?' I exclaimed. 'Kemit has gone?'

'He and both his men,' Emerson said.

Another silence ensued, longer and more fraught with emotion. Finally Emerson squared his shoulders and addressed the group in the voice that never ceased to thrill me - the voice of a leader of men. 'Let us consider this situation coolly and rationally, without prejudice. Something deucedly peculiar is going on.' I started to speak; Emerson turned his burning blue gaze upon me. 'I will invite your comments, my dear Peabody, when I have finished. Until then I beg you - all of you - will permit me to speak without interruption.'

'Certainly, my dear Emerson,' I murmured.

'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'Very well. When Lord Blacktower called upon us with his preposterous story, I reacted as any sensible individual would - with incredulity. That very night an odd incident occurred. You know of it, Mr Forthright. No comment, please, a simple nod will suffice. Thank you. At the time I was unable to see any connection between this incident and Lord Blacktower's proposal, for the reason that no such connection was apparent.

'Nothing else untoward occurred until we reached Nubia. You may recall, Peabody, the curious incident of Ramses walking in his sleep.' He went on hastily, before I could reply. One such event might be dismissed as meaningless. A second similar event, such as occurred last night, raises certain doubts. Again Ramses claims to have heard a voice call him. He remembers responding to the call, but has no recollection of anything else.

Any attempt to concoct a theory that would weave these izarre events into a connected narrative would be no more than idle fiction.' The blazing blue eyes turned towards me; and such was their hypnotic effect that I made no attempt at rebuttal. 'However,' Emerson went on, 'one of the objects found at the scene of the crime last night is, to say the least, remarkable This fragment' - he took it from his pocket, with the air of a conjurer pulling a rabbit from his hat, and waved it before us -'this scrap of broken arrow changes the entire affair. I will stake my reputation - which is not inconsiderable - on the fact that nothing remotely like it is manufactured today by any known tribe of Nubia, Egypt, or the surrounding deserts!'

He paused for effect. This was a mistake, as he immediately realised; before he could resume, Ramses said, 'With all respect, Papa, I believe we all - with the possible exception of Mr Forthright - have followed your reasoning and anticipated your conclusion. If this arrow was not shaped by any known people, then it must have been made by some member of a group hitherto unknown. It is the second such unique artifact you have encountered; the armlet shown you by Mr Forth fourteen years ago was the first.'

'Good heavens!' The words burst from Reggie's throat. 'What are you getting at? You cannot mean -

'Curse it,' Emerson shouted. 'Be still, all of you! You have interrupted the reasoned discourse - '

'Well now, my dear, you were going on at quite unnecessary length,' I said soothingly. 'It is obvious, isn't it? This bit of arrow was broken off during the struggle last night, it must have been carried by Reggie's assailant, who was caught in the very act of luring Ramses out of his bed, for the second time since we arrived in Nubia. Why he wants Ramses I cannot imagine. that is to say, I do not know. But one might reasonably conclude that abduction rather than physical assault was his aim, for he had plenty of time to attack the boy on both occasions. As to why he wishes to kidnap Ramses - '

'Excuse me, Amelia,' said Emerson softly. His face was crimson and his voice shook with repressed emotion. 'Did I hear you say something about going on at unnecessary length?

'You are right to remind me, Emerson. I was about to commit the same error.' I brandished my teacup and raised my voice to a thrilling pitch. 'Let us cut through the cobwebs of speculation with the sharp sword of common sense! The lost civilisation Willoughby Forth set forth to find is a reality! He, and, let us hope, his wife, are prisoners of this mysterious people! One or more' of them has pursued us, from the wilds of Kent to the barren deserts of Nubia! Their occult powers, unknown to modern science, have enslaved Ramses, and even now - '

But here my audience cut me short with a chorus of comment. Dominating the other voices was the deep, infectious laughter of my spouse. Not until his whoops of mirth had subsided could any other sound be heard, and that sound, as one might have expected, was the voice of Ramses.

'Mama, I beg your pardon, but I must take exception to the word "enslaved," which is not only exaggerated and unsubstantiated but derogatory, implying as it does -'

'Never mind, Ramses,' said Emerson, wiping the tears of amusement from his eyes with the back of his manly hand. (Emerson never has a clean handkerchief.) 'Your mama did not mean, I am sure, to insult you. Her imagination - '

'I do not see that imagination enters into it,' I said loudly. 'If either of you can come up with a better explanation for the strange events of the past - '

Ramses and Emerson spoke at once, then fell silent; and Reggie remarked, as if to himself, 'Conversation with the Emerson family is stimulating, to say the least. May I say a word?' He went on without giving any of us an opportunity to reply. 'I take it, Professor, that you disagree with Mrs Emerson's conclusions.'

'What?' Emerson stared at him in surprise. 'No, not at all.'

'But, sir -'

'My amusement derived not from Mrs Emerson's deductions but from her manner of expressing them,' Emerson said. 'I can think of other explanations, but hers is certainly the most probable.'

Reggie shook his head dazedly. 'I don't understand.' 'It is difficult for an ordinary intelligence to follow the quickness of Mrs Emerson's thought,' Emerson said kindly. 'And she does - oh, yes, my dear, you do - she does exaggerate. There is no question of occult powers here; Ramses's odd behaviour is easily explained on the grounds of a post-hypnotic suggestion, instilled by the conjurer whom we encountered in Haifa. If we assume, as we now have reason to do, that the message from Willoughby Forth was genuine, it must have been brought to England by a member of the group that holds him prisoner, for otherwise the messenger would have identified himself and explained how the paper came into his hands. That same mysterious messenger may have shed the blood we found at our gate - but if he was wounded, who shot him, and why? Can we conclude that there are two different groups of people involved, one hostile to the other? The conjurer in Haifa and the presence in camp last night of a man carrying an arrow of an antique and unknown pattern indicate that some member of one of the postulated groups has followed us from England for purposes -er - for purposes impossible to explain at this time.'

'Nonsense,' I exclaimed. 'The purpose is obvious. It is to prevent us from setting out to rescue Willoughby Forth and his poor wife.'

'Curse it, Amelia, there you go again,' Emerson cried. 'That purpose would have been more readily achieved by leaving us strictly alone. They, whoever they are, cannot suppose we will sit calmly by while they lure our son into their clutches.'

'You have a point there, Emerson,' I admitted. 'Then may we conclude that they want us to set out to rescue the Forths?'

'Cursed if I know,' said Emerson candidly.

A brief silence followed this noble admission of fallibility; pondering, we sipped our cooling tea. Finally Reggie asked timidly, 'What are you going to do, Professor?'

Emerson set his cup in the saucer with a decisive thump. 'Something must be done.'

'Quite,' I said, with equal decisiveness.

'But what?' Reggie demanded.

'Hmmm.' Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. 'Well, I am certainly not going to set out on some harebrained expedition into the desert.'

'We might try to hypnotise Ramses again,' I suggested. 'He may know more than he is aware of.'

Ramses uncurled himself from his squatting position and rose to his feet. 'With all respect, Mama, I would rather not be hypnotised again. From my reading on the subject I feel it is a dangerous activity when practised by one who is untrained in its techniques.'

'If you are referring to me, Ramses,' I began.

'Weren't you referring to yourself?' Emerson inquired, his eyes twinkling. He put a friendly hand on Ramses's shoulder. 'Sit down, my son; I won't let Mama hypnotise you.'

'Thank you, Papa.' Ramses sank down, keeping a rather wary eye on me. 'I have given the matter considerable thought, and I can say with some certainty that the voice I thought I heard, and that I assumed to be that of Mama, was no more than my own interpretation of a wordless but urgent demand. I heard it as a single word: "Come."'

'Come... where?' Emerson asked softly.

Ramses's narrow shoulders lifted in the ineffable Arabic shrug, but his normally imperturbable countenance showed more than a trace of perturbation. 'There.' His outflung arm indicated the western desert, barren under the steaming sun.

A shudder ran through my limbs. 'Ramses,' I exclaimed. 'I insist that you - '

'No, no,' Emerson said. 'No hypnotism, Amelia. I agree with Ramses that it might do more harm than good. It appears that something must be done, however. We can't have Ramses trotting around the desert, or guard him every second.' His eyes were fixed on the far horizon, where sand faded into sky, and the longing in his mind was as clear to me as if he had shouted it aloud. The lure of the unknown and of discovery -it called to that sensitive and brilliant spirit as strongly as the unknown force called his son. Had he been alone, with no fears for my safety or that of Ramses, he would have set out on the greatest adventure of his life. I remained respectfully silent in the presence of that noble forbearance (and because I was trying to think how best to express my own opinions on the subject).

'An expedition must be mounted,' Emerson said at last. 'But not by me, and not without careful preparation. Unpleasant as the prospect may be, I will consult with Slatin Pasha and the military authorities at the camp.'

'They won't believe you, Emerson," I cried. 'The evidence is too complex for their limited minds to comprehend. Oh, my dear, they will mock you - think how Budge will laugh - '

Emerson's lips writhed with fury. 'It must be done, Peabody. There is no other course. If it were only a question of searching for our hypothetical lost culture, we could wait a year - plan a proper expedition, gather supplies and sufficient manpower -but Forth and his wife may be in deadly danger. Delay could prove fatal.'

'But - but - ' Reggie gasped. 'Professor, this is a complete volteface! In England you laughed at me, you refused my grandfather's request... What has changed your mind?'

'This.' Emerson picked up the broken arrow. 'To you it may seem a fragile reed on which to risk men's lives. It is useless to explain. You would not understand.'

His eyes met mine. It was one of those thrilling moments of absolute communication that so often occurs with my dear Emerson and myself. 'But you,' that silent message said, 'you understand me, Peabody.' And of course I did.

'I see,' Reggie said - though it was evident he did not. 'Well, then. You are right, Professor. An expedition must be mounted, and certainly not by you - not while you bear the responsibility for these precious lives. And not by the military authorities, who will never be convinced to act in time, if they act at all'. Rising to his feet, he stood straight and tall, his hair blazing in the sunlight. 'You will assist me with advice, I hope -help me acquire the necessary camels, servants, supplies?'

'Sit down, you young idiot,' Emerson growled. 'What melodrama! You are incapable of leading such an expedition, and in any case you could not set forth this instant.'

I added my entreaties to Emerson's. 'My husband is right, Reggie. We have a great deal to discuss before any action is taken. As Emerson has said, this broken arrow is of paramount importance. Was it snapped off during the struggle between you and your assailant last night? Could you have mistaken some other man of the same height and build for Kemit? I cannot believe it was he, and yet his disappearance does cast doubt upon his -'

A high-pitched cry from Reggie stopped me. He leapt to his feet, eyes popping, and fumbled for the revolver at his belt.

Without stirring from his chair, Emerson stretched out a long arm and clamped his fingers over Reggie's wrist. Reggie let out an oath. I turned. Behind me stood our missing servant.

Kemit folded his arms. 'Why does the white man scream like a woman?'

I could not blame Reggie for being startled by Kemit's sudden reappearance, and my reply was a trifle acerbic. 'The day you hear me utter a sound like that, Kemit, you will be justified in making such an insulting comparison. Mr Forthright was surprised, and so are we all. We believed you had left us.'

'You see it is not so, Lady.'

'Where are your friends?'

'It is the day of rest,' said Kemit. The corners of his thin lips compressed, as they did when he had said all he intended to say, so I did not ask where and how his friends spent their free time. Besides, as Emerson would have pointed out, it was none of my business.

'Very well,' I said. 'I apologise for my unjust suspicion, Kemit. Go and enjoy your day of rest.'

Kemit bowed and walked away. Ramses rose to his feet and was following when I called him back. 'From now on, young man,' I said sternly, 'you are not to be out of my sight or that of your papa. We have no reason to think that Kemit is involved in our difficulties but until we know who is, you must not go off alone with anyone.'

Quite right, Peabody,' said Emerson. 'And that prohibition includes you, Mr Forthright. Devil take it, you are far too quick to attack people. If I let loose of your arm will you sit down and behave yourself?'

'Certainly, Professor,' Reggie said. He passed his free hand across his perspiring brow. 'I apologise. The way he appeared, like a genie from a bottle... You think me rash, but I swear to you, that man knows more than he is saying. I cannot imagine why you trust him as you do.'

'I don't trust anyone,' said Emerson with a snap of his teeth. 'Now let us stop wasting time and get back to business. I hope you were not serious when you announced your intention of going off to look for your uncle.'

He released Reggie's arm. The young man rubbed it, wincing. 'Quite serious, Professor. I am only ashamed that it took me so long to decide. I intend to leave immediately for the military camp, to ask the advice of Slatin Pasha and begin gathering the necessary supplies.'

Emerson took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. 'It might be wise to ascertain first where you intend to go. You don't even have the purported map your grandfather received; he left it with me, and I never returned it.'

A smile spread across the young man's face. 'My grandfather took a copy of it, Professor - and I in turn took a copy of his. I have it with me. And I rather suspect you have the original here. Am I right?'

Emerson concentrated on filling his pipe. Not until he had completed the exercise and lit the thing did he speak. 'Touche, Mr Forthright. Let's have a look at yours, then.'

Reggie took a folded paper from his pocketbook and spread it out on the packing case that served as a table. The paper was thin but tough onionskin, upon which the newly drawn lines stood out with far greater clarity than they had upon the original. (I append a copy of the map, in order to facilitate the Reader's understanding of the ensuing description; but I feel it necessary to warn said Reader that certain details have been deliberately altered or omitted. The reasons for this will become apparent as my narrative proceeds.)

Along the right-hand edge of the paper a sweeping loop indicated the great bend of the Nile. Two points along the river were labelled with initials only 'G.B.' and 'M.' A dotted line that ghly paralleled the straight northern section of the river had been marked 'Darb el A.,' and another line running south-west from the southernmost part of the loop bore the identification 'Wadi el M.' Near the left-hand margin of the page a roughly shaped arrow accompanied to the word 'Darfur.'

These features were known to me from modern maps. 'G.B.' stood for Gebel Barkal, the great mountain across the river from our present location. 'M.' could only be the ancient Meroe. The Wadi el Melik or Milk, one of the canyon like depressions cut by watercourses long since vanished, struck off from the river into the southwestern desert. The other scrawled set of initials must indicate a portion of the fabled 'Forty Days' Road' (Darb el Arba'in), the caravan route from Egypt followed by the gallant traders of the ancient Egyptian kingdom. And Darfur, of course, was that western province of Nubia which had been the terminus of the caravan route.

The other lines and markings on the paper could be found on no known map. Some had been traced by Emerson over a decade earlier, and he now proceeded to explain the reasoning that had produced certain of them.

'There must have been an overland route between Napata and Meroe,' he said, indicating the line that connected the dots marked 'M.' and 'G.B.' 'My own excavations at the latter site hasty though they were, indicate that it was already a city of some importance when Napata was the royal seat. To go between the two by water would take considerable time and necessitate traversing the Fifth Cataract. The country was less arid at that time -'

'Agreed, Emerson, agreed,' I exclaimed. 'You need not justify your reasoning. But what is this line, leading southwest from Meroe towards the Wadi el Melik?'

'Pure hypothesis,' said Emerson sombrely. 'I am convinced that caravans travelled from Meroe, and from Napata, to the fertile oases of Darfur. Traces of ancient remains have been found along certain desert routes, and in Darfur itself. The first part of this line' - he pointed with the stem of his pipe - 'is based on some of those finds. I assumed that the routes from Meroe and Napata met at a certain point, possibly near or along the Wadi el Melik, and followed a common path farther westward. If the last survivors of the royal house of Cush fled Meroe when the city fell, they would, one presumes, have followed that road, since only along it could they depend on finding wells and water holes. And yet...'

His voice trailed off as he bent his frowning gaze upon the map. Someone had obviously disagreed with his reasoning, for the line that struck off at an angle, almost due south from Gebel Barkal, had been added to his original sketch in the same thick black ink used to write the message on the scrap of papyrus Lord Blacktower had shown us. It was divided into segments each marked by a Roman numeral, from one (nearest the river) to thirteen, at the point where the line ended in a curious little picture-drawing. At intervals along this route were scrawled numbers, not Roman but the ordinary Arabic numerals in  common usage, and several odd little signs that resembled ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.

I lost no time in proclaiming the obvious conclusions.   "The numbers along the route must indicate travel time, don't you think, Emerson? Thirteen days in all, from Napata to -'

'The Holy Mountain,' said Ramses. 'But that is what Gebel Barkal means. That is where we are now. From the Holy Mountain to the Holy Mountain

'You interrupted me, Ramses,' I said. 'And what is more -' 'I beg your pardon, Mama. Excitement overcame me.' 'But why hieroglyphs?' I demanded. 'Not only for the Holy Mountain, but here - this is ancient Egyptian for water - and here again, the sign for... obelisks, are they? Or towers, perhaps.' 'Or pillars,' said Ramses. 'They are not very expertly drawn. I believe Mr Forth had some knowledge of the hieroglyphs; he may have chosen to employ signs known only to a few, in case his map fell into the wrong hands.'

Emerson brooded over the paper. His pipe had gone out; Reggie took his own from his pocket, filled it, and offered Emerson a match. 'Thank you,' Emerson said abstractedly. 'This is a much clearer copy than the original. You are certain of these Arabic numbers, Forthright? For they appear to be compass readings, and any error in transcribing them could be literally deadly.'

Reggie assured him he had copied the numbers exactly. I will admit to the Reader in confidence that I had not realised the numbers might be compass readings. The excitement that had set my heart pounding earlier was nothing to the thrill I felt at this announcement, for those numbers meant that the map was more than an idle fantasy. Someone had followed that trail; someone had inscribed those numerals. And where one had gone, others could follow.

It took three days to assemble Reggie's expedition. This was a remarkable achievement, and it would have taken much longer had it not been for Emerson's energetic help - and the fact that at the end of that time we had hired every willing man and every healthy camel. The group was small, dangerously small for such a trip, but there were simply no more beasts to be had. Emerson mentioned this depressing fact more than once, but his warnings had no effect on Reggie.

The young man's dedication and courage moved me greatly - and surprised me too, if I must be candid. Evidently it took him a while to make up his mind, but once he had made a decision, he stuck to it. Though Emerson never said so to Reggie, he was also favourably impressed. He admitted as much to me, the night before Reggie's scheduled departure, as we reclined in our tent engaged in conversation. (Conversation being the only thing in which we could engage, since Ramses now shared our sleeping accommodations. Emerson had reacted to this situation more calmly than I had expected; the only sign of perturbation he displayed was to smoke his wretched pipe incessantly.)

'I never thought he'd stick to it' were Emerson's precise words. 'Blasted young idiot! I am tempted to cripple him a little, to keep him from carrying out this harebrained scheme.'

'Is it really very dangerous, Emerson?'

'Don't ask stupid questions, Peabody; you know how it maddens me when you pretend to be an ordinary empty-headed female. Of course it is dangerous.'

A fit of coughing prevented me from replying. Emerson was smoking, and the atmosphere in the tent was rather thick. After a moment Emerson went on, 'Forgive me, Peabody. My temper is a trifle short these days.'

'I know, my dear. I too feel the pangs of remorse. For if we had not forgotten ourselves in the heat of enthusiasm, and had maintained our original scepticism about Mr Forth's quest for the lost civilisation, Reggie might not have decided as he did. One might even say that he is taking this step to prevent us from risking our lives in the attempt. There could be no nobler'

'Oh, do be quiet, Peabody,' Emerson shouted. 'How dare you say I feel remorse? I feel none. I did everything I could to dissuade him.'

I put my hand over his lips. 'You will wake Ramses.'

'Ramses is not asleep,' Emerson mumbled. 'I don't think he ever sleeps. Are you asleep, Ramses?'

'No, Papa. The event of the morrow must induce in any thoughtful person the most serious reflections of wonder, doubt, and inquiry. Yet every possible precaution against disaster has been taken, has it not?

Emerson did not reply, for he was occupied in nibbling gently on my fingers. The sensations thus produced were quite remarkable, and indicated how effectively a talented and imaginative individual can overcome the limitations posed by the presence of a small, unsleeping child.

'Yes, indeed, Ramses,' I replied somewhat abstractedly. 'Mr Forthright has sworn to turn back immediately if he does not find the first of the landmarks indicated on the map, and his camels are the best... !'

'Is something wrong, Mama?' Ramses asked in alarm.

I will not describe what Emerson was doing; it has no part in this narrative. 'No, Ramses,' I said. 'Quite the contrary. That is... stop worrying, and go to sleep.'

But of course he did not, and after Emerson had gone as far as he could go without attracting Ramses's attention, he had to leave off. Long after his steady breathing betokened his surrender to Morpheus, I lay awake staring up at the dark canopy of canvas above me and asking myself the same question Ramses had asked. Had every possible precaution been taken? Only time would tell.

The caravan was supposed to set forth at dawn, but nothing ever happens on schedule in the East; it was nearer midday when Reggie at last mounted his camel. It lurched to its feet in the awkward way these beasts have; Reggie swayed and clutched the pommel with both hands. Emerson, standing beside me, let out a sigh. 'He'll fall off before he has gone a mile.'

'Hush,' I murmured. 'Don't discourage him.'

At least the camel was in good condition. It was one of the prized white racing meharis beloved of the Beduin, and how Emerson had persuaded its owner to part with it I dared not ask. The other beasts were the best of the ones I had been tending. The military authorities had flatly refused to lend any of theirs, but after seeing how effective my medications had proved, several of the local sheikhs had brought their animals to me for attention, and exorbitant payments had induced them to hire the beasts out to Reggie. Four of them were loaded with food and water. The latter, of course, was the most vital commodity; it was carried in goatskins, each containing slightly over two gallons. Four servants accompanied Reggie. Three were local men; the fourth was Daoud, one of Reggie's Nubian servants. He was a singularly unprepossessing fellow, with a huge dirty black beard and a cast in one eye, but I could forgive him his looks because of his loyalty to his master. The other servants had flatly refused to go.

Reggie carefully took one hand from the saddle and lifted his hat. The sunlight cast his features into strong relief and woke golden highlights from the smooth, oiled surface of his auburn hair. 'Farewell, Mrs Emerson - Professor - my young friend Ramses. If we do not meet again - '

I let out a cry of distress. 'Don't harbour such thoughts, Reggie! Keep a stout heart, and faith in the Presence that protects the valiant. I will remember you in my prayers -'

'Fat lot of good that will do,' growled Emerson. 'Don't forget what you promised, Forthright. If the cursed map is accurate, you should find the first landmark - the twin towers - at the end of your third day of travel. You can give it another day if you like - you have food and water enough for at least ten days - but then you must turn back. Failure to find the first landmark will prove the map isn't to be trusted. If you do find it - you won't, but if you do - you will send a messenger back to us at once.'

'Yes, Professor,' Reggie said. 'We've been over that a number of times. I gave you my word, and even if I were inclined to break it, which I would never do, I hope I am sensible enough to know the risks attendant upon - '

'He has been with us too long,' said Emerson to me. 'He is beginning to sound like Ramses. Very well, Forthright; if you are determined to go, why the devil don't you go?'

This speech rather spoiled the emotional tone of our leave-taking, and a further pall was cast upon the occasion by Reggie's Egyptian servant, who broke into a weird keening wail, like a paid mourner at a funeral, as his master rode away. Emerson had to shake him to make him stop. The sun was high overhead and the moving figures cast no visible shadows. Slowly they dwindled until they vanished into a haze of heat and blowing sand.

I had never seen Emerson drive the men as he did during the following days. We were short-handed, thanks to the fact that we had sent two of our most dependable men with Reggie, and the fact that Kemit's friends never returned from their 'day of rest.' When I questioned him about them, Kemit only shook his head. 'They were strangers in a strange land. They have returned to their wives and children. Perhaps they will come again...'

'Oh, bah,' said Emerson, there being very little else to say. It was not uncommon for local workers to tire of labour or fall victim to Heimweh, but we had thought Kemit's men to be of stronger mettle.

Ramses began badgering us to let him return to his own tent, claiming that (a), Emerson's snoring kept him awake, and (b), it was unlikely he would be 'called,' as he put it, again. The first claim was untrue (Emerson seldom snored); and the second was utterly without foundation. As a compromise Emerson had Ramses's tent moved near to ours, and occupied it himself. 'I may as well, Peabody,' he remarked gloomily. 'Being in such close proximity to you without being able to act upon my feelings has a deleterious effect on my health.' (This is a paraphrase of Emerson's speech; the actual words he used were more direct and thus inappropriate for the eyes of the reading public.)

Fortunately for Emerson's health, mental and physical, we made a discovery that distracted him temporarily. It would have been a momentous event in any season and at any site, for the identification of a hitherto anonymous monument is of consuming importance. Here, after days of dull surveying and fruitless digging, it was as exciting as a tomb chamber full of treasure. The object itself was not impressive - only a weathered slab of stone - but Emerson at once identified it as the lintel of a small pylon-gateway. It was buried deep in sand, which had to be cleared away from its surface and its surroundings, for Emerson refused to move it - in fact, he declared his intention of covering it up again as soon as he had finished studying it and recording the position in which it had been found.

Kneeling in the narrow trench, he carefully brushed away the last layer of sand from the surface. The men gathered around, as breathless with anticipation as we. If the worn marks on the stone proved to be hieroglyphs, the discovery would mean a sizable bonus for the lucky finder.

Unable to endure the suspense any longer, I lay flat on the edge of the trench and looked down. This movement sent a shower of sand onto the stone and the bowed, bare head of my husband; he looked up, frowning. 'If you want to bury me alive, Peabody, go right on squirming.'

'I beg your pardon, my dear,' I said. 'I will be careful. Well? Are they... Is it... ?'

'They are, and it is - a royal titulary! The curved ends of the cartouches are quite clear.'

He strove to speak calmly, but his voice quivered with emotion and his long, sensitive fingers brushed the stone as tenderly as a caress. 'Congratulations, my dear Emerson, exclaimed. 'Can you read the names?' (As I am sure I need not explain to my learned Readers, the kings of Egypt and of Cush had several names and titles; official monuments always carried at least two of them.)

'I'll have to do a rubbing, and wait until the sun is at a better angle before I can be certain,' Emerson replied. 'This local sandstone is so cursed soft, it has weathered badly. But I think 'Leaning close, he blew gently on one section. 'I see an n sign with two tall narrow signs below; the first appears to be a reed leaf. Following are two long narrow signs, and then a pair of rush plants. Yes, I think I can hazard a guess. The signs match the ones given by Lepsius for King Nastasen.'

Emotion overcame me. I leapt to my feet and let out a loud 'Hurrah.'

Emerson replied with a volley of bad language (evidently my sudden movement had precipitated some amount of sand into the trench) and the men began to cheer and dance around. I turned to Kemit, who as usual stood aloof from the others, watching their display with an ironic smile.

'Please, Kemit, fetch the thin paper and the magic drawing sticks,' I ordered. 'And one of the lamps.'

Kemit turned his wide dark eyes on me. 'Nastasen,' he repeated.

He pronounced it differently, but I understood. 'Yes, is it not exciting? This is the first pyramid we have been able to identify with its owner - the first anyone has identified.'

Kemit murmured something in his own language. I thought I recognised one of the words from the vocabulary list Ramses had made. It meant 'omen' or 'portent.'

I hope so,' I said, smiling. 'I hope it is a portent of more such discoveries. Hurry, Kemit, the sand is unstable and I don't like the professor to stay down there any longer than is necessary.'

Well, we managed to clear the stone and record the inscrip-tion; it was, as Emerson had thought, the titulary of King Nastasen Ka'ankhre, one of the last rulers of the Meroitic dinasty. A stela belonging to this monarch had been obtained by Lespsius for the Berlm Museum. On it Nastasen claimed he had been given the crown by the god Amon, and described various military operations against an invader from the north, who may have been the Persian king Cambyses.

It was a truly thrilling discovery and kept us busy for several days; but at the end of that time even the hope of further finds could not distract me from my worries about poor Reggie. Emerson's discovery had been made on the sixth day after the young man's departure. It was on that evening we might first have expected to see him if the map proved to be an ignis fatuus and he turned back, as he had promised.

Darkness came with no sign of him. We did not mention him that evening, even Ramses displaying a tactful reticence I would not have expected from him. After all, I told myself, this was the earliest moment at which we might have expected him. Any number of causes might have delayed him or his messenger.

But after two more days had passed without word, I began to fear the worst. Emerson put on a good show of unconcern, but every now and then, when he thought I was not looking at him, I saw the bronzed mask of control crack into lines I had never seen on that beloved face.

On the evening of the eighth day I left camp, drawn out into the desert as if by a magnet. The western sky blazed with violent shades' of copper and amethyst; the last glowing rim of the sun clung to the horizon as if reluctant to leave the realms of the living for the dark abode of night. The brilliance of the sunset was caused by particles of blowing sand; I thought of the violent storms that could bury men and camels in the space of an hour. The worst of it was we might never know their fate. A rescue expedition would be folly, for if they had wandered off their course by as little as a mile, they might as well be halfway across the globe.

The sunset colours faded - not only because the sun was sinking but because tears dimmed my eyes. I let them fall; their release would relieve my heartache.

I became aware of a presence, not by any sound or movement, but by some more mysterious sense; turning my head, I saw Kemit.

'You weep, Lady,' he said. 'Is it for the fiery-haired youth?'

'For him and the other brave men who may have perished with him,' I replied.

'Then spare your tears, Lady. They are safe.'

'Safe!' I exclaimed. 'Then a message has come?'

'No. But I speak the truth.'

'You speak words of kindness, Kemit, and I appreciate your attempt to cheer me. But how can you possibly know their fate?'

'The gods have told me.'

He stood straight as a lance, his stalwart figure limned black against the fiery sky, and his voice and manner carried a conviction that assured me he, at least, believed what he had said. It would have been rude as well as unkind to point out I had heard nothing from my God, and that I regarded that source as somewhat more reliable than his.

'Thank you, my friend,' I said. 'And render my thanks to your gods for their kind reassurance. I think we had best return now, it is getting... Kemit? What is it?'

For he had stiffened like a thoroughbred hound scenting an invisible prey. I sprang to my feet and stood beside him; but though I strained my sight to the utmost, I saw nothing in the direction in which he stared so intently.

'Something comes,' said Kemit.

He was fifty feet away before I could gather my wits and follow him. He could run like a deer. By the time I caught him up he was kneeling beside a prostrate figure. The brief twilight of the desert darkened the air as I too fell to my knees beside the body, but I saw immediately that the fallen form was, for once, not Reggie's. The dark robe and turban were those of an Arab.

Kemit's eyes were better than mine. 'It is the servant of the fire-haired one,' he said.

'Daoud, the Nubian? Help me to turn him over. Is he... ?'

'He breathes,' said Kemit briefly.

I unhooked the canteen from my belt and unscrewed the top. In my agitation I spilled more water on his face than into his parted lips, but no doubt the result was all to the good; almost at once the man stirred and moaned and licked his lips. 'More,' he gasped. 'Water, for the love of Allah...'

I allowed him only a sip. 'Not too much, it will make you ill. Rest easy, you are safe. Where is your master?'

The only answer was a tremulous whisper, in which I caught only the word 'water.' In my agitation I actually shook the poor fellow. 'You have had enough for now. Does your master follow? Where are the others?'

'They.' Black night covered his face and form, but his voice was stronger. I dribbled a little more water into his mouth, and he went on, 'They found us. The wild men of the desert. We fought... they were too many.'

Kemit's breath caught in a startled hiss. 'Wild men?' he repeated.

'Too many, I repeated. 'Yet you escaped, leaving your master to die?'

'He sent me,' the man protested. Tor help. They were too many. Some they killed... but not the master. He is a prisoner of the wild men of the desert!'

Lost In the Sea of Sand

'Slavers,' said Slatin Pasha.

The buzzing of a chorus of flies droned a dismal accompaniment to his words as he went on. 'We have done our best to stop that vile trade, but our efforts have only driven the ghouls who trade in human flesh farther from their customary routes. It must have been some such group who attacked Mr Forthright.'

'What does it matter who they were?' I demanded. 'The question is, what are the authorities going to do about it?'

We were in Slatin Pasha's tukhul at the military camp. Outside a crowd of people squatted patiently on the mats, waiting for his attention, but he had given our problem precedence.

The distinguished soldier coughed and looked away. 'We will, of course, mention the matter to any patrols that go into that region.'

'I told you this was a waste of time, Peabody,' said Emerson, rising.

'Wait, Professor,' Slatin Pasha begged. 'Don't misjudge me; I would do anything within my power to assist this unfortunate young man. But you of all people should understand the difficulties. We are preparing for a major campaign, and we need every man. Mr Forthright was warned that his search was both dangerous and futile, yet he persisted in going. I would not, even if I could, persuade the Sirdar to endanger more lives.'

I administered a gentle kick to the shins of my spouse in order to forestall the contemptuous response I saw hovering upon his lips. Slatin Pasha did not deserve our contempt. No man knew better than he the tortures of slavery among savage people. His distress and his helplessness were equally plain to see.

Once outside the tukhul, we turned towards the market. The flies were particularly bad that day; they clustered like patches of black rot on every piece of fruit and formed a whining cloud around the food stalls.

'I will leave you to make the necessary purchases,' I said to Emerson, 'while I beg an additional supply of camel ointment and other medications from Captain Griffith.'

I started to walk away, but Emerson caught me by the shoulder and spun me around. His eyes sparkled wickedly, and his cheeks were flushed with rising temper. 'Here - wait, Peabody. What the devil are you doing? You have plenty of the cursed medicine, you got a fresh supply last time we came here.'

'Only enough for a week,' I replied. 'It is important to have an adequate amount, Emerson; our lives may depend on the good health of the camels.'

The hand that held me tightened until it felt as if the fingers were digging into the bone. The eyes that looked deep into mine glowed like the purest blue water. Though the crowd of the suk jostled us on every hand, we might have been alone in the desert waste, no one seeing, no one hearing.

'I won't let you come, Peabody,' said Emerson.

'Your tone lacks conviction, my dear Emerson. You know you can't prevent me.'

Emerson let out a groan so deep and heartfelt that a passing woman robed in dusty black forgot the modesty of her sex and turned a startled look upon the suffering foreigner. 'I know I can't, Peabody. Please, my dearest, I beg you - I implore you... Think of Ramses.'

'I trust,' said my son coolly, 'that no such consideration will affect your decision, Mama. I fail to see that we have any other course than the one Papa has evidently decided upon; and it would be as impossible for me to remain behind as for Mama to be parted from Papa. I am sure I need not trouble you with an expression of excessive emotion in order to convince you both that my feelings are as profound and as sincere as -'

I took it upon myself to stop him, since I knew he would go on talking until his breath gave out. 'Pedantic little wretch,' I said, attempting to conceal my own emotion, 'how dare you appeal to affection in order to have your own way? It is out of the question, Ramses; you cannot come with us.'

'Us?' said Emerson. 'Us? Now see here, Peabody -'

'That is settled, Emerson. Whither thou goest, I fully intend to go, and I won't entertain any further debate on the subject. As for young Master Ramses - '

'What alternative do you propose, Mama?' inquired that individual.

I stared at him, at a loss for words. He stared unblinkingly back at me. Never before had he looked so much like his father. His eyes were deep brown instead of brilliant blue, but they held the same saturnine expression I had often seen in Emerson's when he backed me into a verbal corner.

For the alternatives were, to say the least, limited. Ramses could not be left alone at the excavation site, or in the army camp. Even if we could persuade the authorities to send him back to Cairo, via military transport - which was improbable -I did not believe that a full army corps, much less a single officer, could control him. If I could get his solemn promise not to run away... But even as the idea occurred to me I realised its futility. In a matter as serious as this, Ramses would not equivocate or prevaricate; he would simply refuse to give me his word. And then what? I felt fairly certain the army would not agree to putting him in irons.

'Curse it,' I said.

'Damnation,' said Emerson. Ramses, wisely, said nothing at all.

A certain amount of equivocation on my part was necessary before we were able to start out. We had to borrow some of the army camels I had been tending, for no others were to be had at any price. This meant that our expedition had to be kept a secret from the military authorities. They might not have attempted to stop us from going, but they certainly would have objected to our unauthorised use of their property.

Manpower too was in short supply. The most reliable of the workers had been sent with Reggie, and their failure to return quite understandably acted as a deterrent to other volunteers.

Yet we persevered, as duty directed us, until we made a discovery that might well have marked the end of our endeavours. When Emerson went to look for Willoughby Forth's map, it was nowhere to be found.

'I tell you, Peabody, I put it in this portfolio,' Emerson roared, scattering the contents of the portfolio all over the tent. 'Don't tell me I am mistaken; I am never mistaken about such things.'

Years spent stumbling through the pitfalls of matrimony had taught me that it would be ill-advised to deny this ridiculous statement. In silence I stooped to pick up the papers, and Emerson continued, 'It must be found, Peabody. Though it is a frail reed upon which to risk our lives, it is better than nothing.'

'Daoud has agreed to guide us,' I said hesitantly.

'He's no more use as a guide than Ramses there. Less, in fact,' Emerson added quickly, as Ramses started to protest. 'If he were a Beduin, familiar with the desert, that would be one thing, but he told me he has lived all his life in Haifa. No, we must have the map. We dare not set forth without it!'

I started to reply, but something stopped me, like an invisible hand placed over my lips. I can truthfully claim that I seldom suffer from indecision. Such, however, was the case now. Before I could make up my mind, Ramses emitted the small cough that usually preceded a statement of whose reception he was not entirely certain.

'Fortunately, Papa, there is a copy of the map at hand. I took the liberty of tracing it before we left England.'

Emerson dropped the papers I had handed him and spun around to face his son. His face shone with delight. 'Splendid, Ramses! Run and fetch it at once. It is the last thing we need; we will set forth at dawn.'

With a sigh, I stooped to collect the papers again. The die was cast, our fate determined - but not by me. I too had a copy of the map.

The night before he left us Reggie had handed me a little packet of papers, requesting me in manly but faltering tones to refrain from mentioning it or opening it until after his departure. I knew what it must contain, and my own voice was a trifle unsteady as I assured him he could trust me to carry out his wishes, in the unhappy event that such action should prove necessary. When I did open the packet I found what I had expected - Reggie's last will and testament, written in his own hand. There were also two letters, one addressed to his grandfather and the other to Slatin Pasha. A copy of the map was attached to this last document; I assumed the letter itself expressed Reggie's hope that the military authorities would carry on his quest if he fell by the way.

Neither of the letters was sealed. I thought this a particularly delicate and gentlemanly touch on Reggie's part. Naturally I would never dream of reading such private communications, but under the present circumstances there was no honourable reason why I should have hesitated to admit I possessed a copy øf the map. Why did I hesitate? I knew the answer, as well as the Reader must. Without the map we dared not set forth. To supply the commodity that might doom us all to death was a responsibility I had lacked the fortitude to assume.

The first pale hint of sunrise touched the eastern sky as we prepared for departure. I had anointed the camels' healing sores and forced a dose of cordial - my own invention, compounded of strengthening herbs and a modicum of brandy - down their throats. (Emerson had expressed doubts about the brandy, but the camels seemed to like it.) The baggage, carefully balanced and padded, had been loaded upon their backs. I placed my booted foot upon the foreleg of my kneeling steed and swung myself into the saddle. Ramses was already mounted, perched like a monkey atop a pile of baggage. Emerson followed suit. We were ready.

I turned to survey the little expedition. Little it was; only a dozen camels, only five riders in addition to ourselves. One of them was Kemit. He had been the first to volunteer. In fact, he was the only one to volunteer; the others had only agreed after the payment of extravagant bribes. They were all silent; there was none of the cheerful talk, or song, or laughter with which they were wont to meet the day. The cold grey light cast a corpselike pallor upon their gloomy faces and those of the friends and family members who had come to bid them farewell.

Emerson flung up his hand. His deep voice rolled out across the empty waste. 'We depart with the blessing of God! Ma'es-salamehl'

The formal answer came in a ragged chorus. 'Nishuf wishshak fi kheir - May you be fortunate at our next meeting.' I detected a certain lack of conviction in the voices, however, and a woman's voice broke into soprano lamentation.

Emerson drowned her out with a sonorous rendition of an Arabic song, and urged his camel to a trot. Gritting my teeth - for the motion of a trotting camel is the most painful thing on this earth - I followed his lead. In a cloud of sand, accompanied by song, we thundered away.

As soon as we were out of sight of the others, Emerson allowed his camel to slow to a walk. I drew up beside him. 'Are we going in the right direction, Emerson?'

'No.' Emerson glanced at the compass and turned his beast slightly to the right. 'That was purely for effect, Peabody. A stirring departure, wasn't it?'

'Yes, indeed, my dear, and it has had the desired effect.' One of the men had continued the song ('When will she say to me, "Young man, come and let us intoxicate ourselves?"') and the others were humming along.

The cool of morning gave way to warmth and then to excessive heat. We paused to rest during the hottest part of the day in the shade of a rock outcropping. Deserts vary as people do. The great sand sea of the Sahara, with its sterile golden dunes, was far to the north. Here the underlying skin of the planet was sandstone, not limestone, and the flat surface was broken by rocks and gullies that marked the course of ancient waterways. Late in the afternoon we set out again. Only when approaching darkness made travel impossible did we stop to make camp. We had seen no sign of anyone who might have preceded us, not even the bones of fallen men and camels that form grisly guideposts along such well-travelled routes as the Darb el Arba'in.

'We are off all the known caravan routes,' Emerson said, when I mentioned this later as we sat around the campfire. 'The nearest part of the Darb el Arba'in is hundreds of miles west of here; there is no known route between it and this part of Nubia. Still, I had hoped to find some sign of Forthright's passage - the dead ashes of a fire, discarded tins, or even the tracks of the camels.'

The stars blazed like gems in a sky as cold as airless space, a chill breeze ruffled my hair. We sat in reflective silence until the moon rose, casting strange shadows across the silvered sands.

The next day was a repetition of the first except that the terrain became even more arid and forbidding. In that waste any object would have stood out like a beacon; tracks, which Emerson identified as those of an antelope, were as plain as if they had been printed on the sand. But we saw no signs of man. That evening one of the camels showed signs of distress, so I gave it an extra dose of my cordial. In spite of this, it died during the night. I was not surprised; it had been the weakest of the lot. Leaving the poor creature lying where it had fallen, we pushed on.

By the afternoon of the third day the uncomfortable temperature changes, from unbearable heat by day to freezing cold by night, and our failure to find any traces of Reggie's caravan, were beginning to tell on even the hardiest. Sifting sand had rubbed our skins raw; those unaccustomed to riding were stiff and sore. The men rode in sullen silence. An ugly haze veiling the sun did not lessen the heat, but awoke dire fore bodings of sandstorm. I found myself falling into a kind of stupor as the camel plodded onward; it was hard to tell which ached more, my head or certain portions of my abused anatomy.

I was aroused from my semi-slumber by a shout. Dazed and dizzy, I echoed it in fainter tones. 'What? What is it?'

Emerson was too elated to note my enfeebled state. 'Look, Peabody. There they are! By heaven, the lunatic was right after all!'

At first the objects he indicated seemed only another mirage quivering as if viewed through water. They took on solider dimensions as we urged our beasts to a faster gait, and before long we had reached them: a pair of tall, rocky columns, like the twin obelisks marked on Mr Forth's map. They formed part of a larger group of tumbled stones, rising above their lesser fellows like crudely shaped pillars, or the gateposts of a ruined doorway.

'It was a structure of some kind,' Emerson declared, a short time later. The discovery had enlivened him; he looked as fresh and cheerful as if he had spent the day roaming English meadows. 'I can't find any traces of reliefs or inscriptions, but they may have been worn away by blowing sand. We'll make camp here, Peabody, though it is early. I want to do a bit of digging.'

In this activity he got scant help from the men. Groaning and protesting, they demanded an extra ration of water before they would consent to do anything at all, and they worked slowly and reluctantly. Only Kemit, looking more than ever like a bronze statue, pitched in with his usual zeal. At the end of an hour Emerson was rewarded by a few scraps of stone and pottery, and another shapeless ugly lump that brought a cry of rapture to his lips. 'Iron, Peabody - an iron knife blade. It is Meroitic, beyond a doubt. They were here - they passed this way. Good Gad, this is incredible!'

I inspected the corroded lump doubtfully. 'How do you know it wasn't lost by a modern explorer or wandering Beduin?'

'There are occasional rains in this region, in summer; but it would take centuries, nay, millennia, to reduce cold iron to this state. The Cushites worked iron; I have seen the black slag heaps around Meroe, like the ones at Birmingham and Sheffield.' Turning to the men, who squatted on the sand looking like piles of dirty laundry, he shouted cheerfully, 'Rest, my friends; we must make an early start.'

He appeared not to notice the sullen looks with which they obeyed him, it would never have occurred to Emerson that he could not command any group who worked for him. Nor, under ordinary circumstances, would any such doubt have entered my mind. But these circumstances were far from normal, and the discovery that had enraptured Emerson had precisely the opposite effect on the men. We had water for only about ten days. According to the map, seven or eight days of travel would bring us to a source of that vital fluid; but if the map had proved to be untrustworthy, common sense would decree that we turn back while we still had a sufficient supply for the return journey. The men had hoped we would not find the first landmark, and decide to give up. Well, I could sympathise with their point of view, but I felt a stirring of unease as I saw the ugly look one of them gave my unconscious husband. Daoud's willingness to return into the desert that had almost cost him his life had surprised and pleased me; he was a man of considerable stamina, for his recovery from his ordeal had been quicker than I had expected. However, he had turned sullen when Emerson rejected his advice on the route we should follow, and after repeated criticism from Daoud, Emerson had lost his temper. 'I am guided by the marks on the paper and the needle of the magic clock [i.e., the compass]. If your master followed your lead, it is no wonder we have found no trace of him!'

He added a few well-chosen expletives that put an end to Daoud's complaints. At least he did not complain to Emerson, but I had an uneasy feeling that he was undermining the con-fidence of the other men.

Still, we had two more days before we reached the point of no return, and there were no overt signs of rebellion when we set out the next morning, even though during the night another camel had passed on to wherever camels go. There were enough left to mount all the men, and I took care to renew their medication.

The fifth day dawned hazy and still. The rising sun resembled m a swollen, blood-red balloon. The sandstorm passed to the south of our path, but the outlying skirts of it filled the air with fine grit that rubbed skin raw and clogged breathing. One of the camels collapsed shortly after we set forth after the midday rest period. Less than an hour later, a second dropped. If there had been a particle of shade to be found, I expect the men would have insisted on stopping, but they went on in the hope of finding a better place. Towards evening the wind turned to the north and the gritty air cleared, giving us some relief; and as the sun sank lower I saw a stark outline limned against the brilliance of sunset. It was not so much a tree as the skeleton of one, leafless and scoured bone-white by wind-driven sand. But it was unquestionably Forth's second landmark.

We camped in what might have been its shade if it had possessed any leaves. Bathing was out of the question, of course, but we spared a scant cupful of water to sponge off the sand that had formed a crust on our perspiring faces and limbs. A change of clothing, as well, afforded great relief. As the chill of the desert night closed around us, Emerson and I sat by the small fire on which our meagre evening meal was cooking. He had lit his pipe. Ramses was seated some distance away, talking to Kemit. Beyond them crouched our riding camels, grotesque shapes in the cold moonlight.

The men had placed their camp farther from us each night -a gesture whose significance did not escape me, but which I considered it best not to mention to them. When I mentioned it to Emerson, he shrugged his broad shoulders. 'They were the pick of a poor lot, Peabody. If I had had the time to send messengers to my friends among the Beduin... I don't know what they're complaining about, thus far matters have gone very well.'

'Except for the camels dying.'

'The weak have been winnowed out,' said Emerson sententiously. 'They were the weakest. The others appear healthy enough.'

'I saw Daoud haranguing the men this evening. They were gathered around him like conspirators, and he broke off when he saw me coming.'

'He was probably telling them a vulgar story,' Emerson said. 'Good Gad, Peabody, these womanish qualms are not like you. Are you feeling well?'

He reached for my hand.

Within it - figuratively speaking - lay the means of altering Emerson's set purpose. I was not feeling well. All I had to do was admit to the feverish malady that had afflicted me since the previous afternoon, and we would be on our way back to civilisation and a doctor as fast as Emerson could take me. But such a course was unthinkable. No one understood better than I the passion that drove him on into the unknown. Not only had Forth's map proved accurate, but the discovery of ancient remains substantiated the theory that along that hitherto unknown and unsuspected road had passed the merchants and messengers and the fleeing royalty of ancient Cush. I was as eager as Emerson to discover what lay at the end of that road. At least I would have been, if my head had not ached so much.

'Of course I am well,' I replied crossly.

'Your hand is warm,' said Emerson. 'You brought your medical kit, of course; have you taken your temperature?'

'I don't need a thermometer to tell me when I have a fever, and I know as well as any doctor what to do about it if I have. Don't fuss, Emerson.'

'Peabody.'

'Yes, Emerson.'

Emerson took my face between his hands and looked into my eyes. 'Take some quinine and go to bed, my dear. I'll dose the da - the cursed camels and bed them down for the night. If I am not entirely satisfied in the morning that you are in perfect health, I will tie you on a camel and take you back.'

Tears flooded my eyes at this demonstration of affection, one of the noblest ever made by man for the sake of woman. But my gallant Emerson was not forced to that agonising decision. Fortunately the men abandoned us during the night, taking with them the camels that carried most of our remaining food and water.

The effect of this admittedly disconcerting discovery made me forget my discomfort, and when our greatly reduced party gathered to discuss the situation, I felt almost as alert as usual. Kemit, whom Ramses had discovered lying unconscious amid the trampled sand and camel dung that marked the men's former camp, had refused to let me treat his wound. It was only a bump on the head, he said, and his sole regret was that the blow had prevented him from raising the alarm.

'It wouldn't have mattered,' I reassured him. 'We could not have forced them to go on; we do not use chains and whips, like the slavers.'

'No, but we might have - er - persuaded them to leave us food and water,' Emerson said. 'Not that I blame you, Kemit, you are a true man and you did your best. It is my cursed stupidity that is to blame for our plight; I should have kept one of the supply camels with us, instead of trusting the men with them.'

'There is nothing so futile as regret for what cannot be mended," I remarked. 'If a mistake was made we all share the blame.'

'True,' Emerson said, cheering up. 'Precisely what do we have left, Peabody?'

'Our personal possessions, changes of clothing, notebooks and papers, a few tools. Two waterskins - but both are less than half-full. A few tins, a tin opener, two tents, blankets...'

'Hmph,' said Emerson when I had finished. 'It could be worse, but it could certainly be better. Well, my dears - and my friend Kemit - what shall we do? There are only two possibilities, for we obviously can't remain here. Either we go on or we turn back - try to overtake those villains and force them to share the supplies - '

A general chorus of disapproval greeted this last suggestion. 'They have several hours' start on us and they will travel as fast as they are able,' I remarked.

'The ugly man has a fire stick,' said Kemit.

'Daoud?' Emerson gave him a startled look. 'Are you certain?'

'He struck me with it,' Kemit said briefly.

'It seems to me that we have no choice,' said Ramses. 'According to the map, which has hitherto proved accurate, there is a source of water less than three days' journey from here. It would take twice that length of time to return to the river. We must go on.'

'Quite right,' said Emerson, jumping to his feet. 'And the sooner we start the better.'

We camped that night in a wilderness of rock and sand, without even a dead shrub to suggest there had ever been a drop of water available. In order to spare the camels, we had abandoned all our nonessential baggage, including the tents, but as the long hot day wore on, all the beasts showed ominous signs of weakness. Sheer willpower, of which I have a considerable amount, prevented me from admitting even to myself that I was in little better case. There was nothing with which to make a fire, so we dined on cold tinned peas and a sip of water, rolled ourselves in our blankets and sought what relief we could find in sleep.

I will not dwell on the misery of the night or in our sensations the following morning when we found two of the three camels dead. My malady was of such a nature that it seemed to be relatively quiescent in the morning and grow worse as the day went on, so I had been able to conceal it from Emerson. He had, I am bound to admit, other things on his mind. So we went on, until the event occurred which I have described, when the last camel dropped gently to its knees and - in a word - died.

I daresay most individuals would have been speechless with horror at this catastrophe; but that condition has never affected the Emerson-Peabodys. Adversity only strengthens us; disaster stimulates and inspires us. I found myself considerably refreshed by our discussion, and as we proceeded on foot, after a brief rest in the shade of the camel, I dared to hope my illness had been overcome by quinine and determination. (Mostly the latter.)

We had gone through the saddlebags and discarded most of their contents, since we could carry only the barest of necessities: the clothing on our backs, the remaining water-skins, with their sadly depleted and evil-tasting contents, and a blanket apiece. The latter were essential, for the night air was bitter cold, and they could be arranged to offer some shade during the hottest part of the day. Ramses insisted on carrying his little knapsack, and of course my parasol could not be left behind. Kemit carefully buried the rest of our goods, though I attempted to dissuade him from expending effort on such trivial things as changes of linen and a few books - for I never travel without a copy of Holy Writ and something to read. After he had finished covering the hole, we started walking. I confess to considerable pride in Ramses. He had not voiced a word of complaint or alarm, and he trotted briskly across the burning sands. Kemit, ever near him, slowed his steps to match the boy's.

My initial optimism proved false. The breeze that rose towards evening did not suffice to cool my burning brow. The terrain became ever more rough and broken, making walking difficult. Some distance ahead a range of low hills, as arid and hard as the desert floor, crossed the route the compass indicated.

They promised some illusion of shelter, and I kept telling myself that when I reached them I could rest. But a sudden stagger betrayed me; the ever-watchful eye of my devoted spouse saw me falter and his stalwart arms broke my fall. The soft sound of muted curses came like music to my ears as he lifted me, and such was the relief of resting against that broad breast, I let myself sink into a swoon.

The blessed trickle of water between my parched lips roused me. It was blood-warm and tasted like goat, but no draft of icy spring water has ever been more refreshing. I sucked greedily until reason returned; then sat up with a cry, striking the container from my lips.

'Good Gad, Emerson, what are you thinking of? You have given me far more than my share.'

'Mama is feeling better,' said Ramses.

They were gathered around me in an anxious circle. I lay in the shadow of a great rock, wrapped in a blanket.

'There are dead trees on the slope,' said Kemit, rising. 'I will make a fire.'

It was welcome; the night air was intensely cold. After consultation we agreed to pass around the brandy I carried for medicinal purposes. It lessened my headache, but made me uncommonly sleepy, so that I drowsed and woke and drowsed again. During one of these periods of wakefulness I overheard the others talking.

It was Kemit's voice that woke me. He spoke more loudly than was his habit. 'There is water, I know it. I have - I have heard the desert men say so.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'We made slow progress today. At this rate it will take two more days.' 'Half a day for a running man.'

Emerson's snort of scepticism was even more emphatic. 'None of us can run at that speed, Kemit. And Mrs Emerson...' He had to pause to clear his throat, poor man.

'She has the heart of a lion,' Kemit said gravely. 'But I fear the demons are winning over her.'

I heard Emerson blow his nose vigorously. I wondered, vaguely, what he was using for a handkerchief.

A small, hard hand touched my forehead. 'Mama is awake,' said Ramses, bending over me. 'Shall I give her a drink, Papa?'

'Not under any circumstances,' I said firmly, and drowsed off again.

It seemed to me that I lay in that state, half-waking, half-sleeping, for the rest of the night, but I must have sunk into deeper slumber, for I woke with a start to find myself clasped close to Emerson's body. He was snoring loud enough to rattle my eardrums. I felt light-headed and weak, but comparatively better, and as the light strengthened I found great comfort in contemplation of the dear face so close to mine. Not that it was looking its best. A prickly stubble of black beard blurred the contours of his jaw, and his firm lips were blistered and cracked. I was about to press my own lips against them when a shrill voice broke the silence.

'Mama? Papa? I hope you will forgive me for waking you, but I feel I must inform you that Kemit is gone. He has taken the waterskin with him.'

Half a day to water, for a running man. That was what Kemit had said, and apparently he had decided to act upon it. By abandoning us he had a chance at saving himself. I did not doubt that those long legs of his could eat up the distance as quickly as he had claimed, especially when he had water to replenish the moisture lost through perspiration.

'I am sadly disappointed in Kemit,' I declared, as we passed round my canteen. Each of us took a sip; there was enough left, I surmised, for one more such indulgence. Fastening it onto my belt, I went on, 'I am seldom mistaken in my judgment of people; apparently this was one of my few errors.'

There was no need to discuss what we would do. We would go on, refusing to admit defeat, until we could go no farther. That is the way of the Emersons.

But we were a sorry crew. Bearded and gaunt, Emerson led the way. Except for his bright eyes, Ramses looked like a miniature mummy, thin as a bundle of sticks, brown as any sun-dried corpse. I was only glad I could not see myself. We plodded doggedly on until the cool of morning passed and the sun beat down with hammer blows of heat. I began to see strange objects in the glimmer of furnace-hot air - mirages of palm trees and minarets, gleaming white-walled cities, a towering cliff of black rock topped by fantastic ruins. They blended into a grey mist like that of evening. My knees gave way. It was an odd sensation, for I was fully conscious; I simply had no control over my limbs.

Emerson bent over me. 'We may as well finish the water, Peabody. It will only evaporate.'

'You drink first,' I croaked. 'Then Ramses.'

Emerson's lips cracked as they stretched in a smile. 'Very well.'

He raised the canteen. I focused my hazed eyes on his throat and saw him swallow. He passed it to Ramses, who did the same, and then gave it to me. I had finished the last of the water, two long, delicious swallows, before the truth dawned on me. 'You didn't - Ramses, I told you - '

'Talking only dries the throat, Mama,' said my son. 'Papa, I believe we can use one of the blankets as a litter. I will carry one end, and you - '

The harsh cackle that emerged from Emerson's throat was a travesty of his hearty laugh. 'Ramses, I am honoured to have sired you, but I don't think that idea is practicable.' Stooping, he lifted me in his arms and started walking.

I was too weak to protest. If there had been any liquid left in my body, I would have wept - with pride.

Only a man like Emerson, with the physique of a hero of old and the moral strength of England's finest, could have gone on as long as he did. As my senses swam in and out of consciousness I felt his arms holding me fast and the slow steady stride that carried us forward. But even that mighty frame had its limits.

When he stopped he had just enough strength left to lay me gently upon the ground before he crumpled and dropped at my side - and his last act was to stretch out his hand so that it rested on mine. I was too weak to turn my head, but I managed to move my other hand a scant inch, and felt another, smaller hand grasp it. As my senses faded into the merciful oblivion of approaching death, I thanked the Almighty that we were all together at the end, and that He had spared me the torture of watching those I loved pass on before me.