Ramses had heard them first, of course. The murmur of sound quickly grew into a full-fledged... chorus? They were singing, certainly, and the twang and tootle of musical instruments accompanied the voices. Before I could decide whether this was a good omen or the reverse, the curtains were drawn aside and the musicians trotted in, singing or wailing at the tops of their voices and strumming enthusiastically. They were followed by a band of officials - I recognised two who had attended the banquet - and three women. I stared at the latter with unabashed curiosity, for they were the first females I had seen who were neither handmaidens nor slaves.

I was given no time to study them, for the whole group advanced upon us, waving various objects. I took them to be weapons of assault and reached for my belt. A flame wavered and brightened, followed by others. Mentarit - one of the handmaidens, at any rate - was gliding around the room lighting the lamps. In their glow I saw that the faces of the newcomers were friendly and smiling and that they held not weapons but combs, brushes, pots and vases, and piles of linen.

The women gathered around me; the men surrounded Ramses and Emerson. 'Now see here,' Emerson said indignantly.

'I believe they only want us to tidy up, Emerson,' I said. One of the women had uncorked a pot and thrust it under my nose; it smelled powerfully of some aromatic herb. Another displayed a filmy linen robe.

'That is precisely what I am objecting - ' A sneeze interrupted the speech; I could not see my husband, for he was surrounded, but I deduced he too had been offered a sniff at the sweet-scented oil. Realising the futility of a struggle, he allowed himself to be led away, but I could hear him long after I lost sight of him.

The women escorted me to the bath, where several of the slaves awaited us. One of them was a young man; when busy hands began to pluck at my garments, preparatory to removing them, I objected, but it was not until Mentarit joined us and translated that the women understood. With giggles and tolerant smiles they dismissed the youth. I needed no translation to comprehend their attitude. To them he was not a man at all, only an animal.

Yet their faces and forms indicated that Emerson had been right when he spoke of interbreeding between the two peoples. They were handsome enough, but so would the rekkit have been with proper food and a good deal of washing. Their linen robes and their ornaments were of the same style, but not the same quality, as the ones they had brought for me; instead of gold they had bedecked themselves with copper bracelets and strings of beads. I deduced that they were of the lower nobility, perhaps personal attendants to the women of the princely ranks. Certainly they were skilled at their job. They doused me and dried me and rubbed me with fragrant oils; one of them wove my hair into an elaborate coiffure of braids and waves, fastening it in place with gold-headed pins.

I have seldom been so distracted. Part of my mind was taking it all in, making detailed notes about the toilette. Another part wondered whether this elaborate ceremony might be the prelude to another, far less comfortable; and a third speculated on how poor Emerson was taking it, for I did not doubt he and Ramses were undergoing similar attentions.

When the ladies started draping me in the filmy white robe I waved them back. They watched with bemused smiles while I located my combinations and put them on. The effect was a trifle odd, I suppose, but I absolutely refused to appear in public wearing only sheer linen that showed everything underneath.

When I was ready, complete with a dainty little golden diadem and bracelets, necklaces, and armlets of heavy gold, sandals were strapped upon my feet. The soles were of leather, but the upper portion consisted only of narrow bands encrusted with the same blue and red-brown stones that covered the jewellery. I had dire forebodings about my ability to walk in the cursed things, and indeed, when they led me back into the reception chamber I had to shuffle to keep from tripping.

Emerson and Ramses were waiting. Ramses looked little different, except for the richness of his ornaments, which were, like mine, of heavy gold. But Emerson! I bitterly regretted that he had not allowed me to bring along a photographic device -but even that would not have captured the full effect of barbaric splendour, the rich glow of gold, the gleam of lapis and turquoise against his skin, which had been oiled till it shone like burnished bronze. His expression suited the costume, for it was that of a warrior prince - dark brows lowering, lips set in a lordly sneer. I risked a quick look at his lower extremities. They were a trifle paler than his arms and breast, but not nearly as white as they had been. Those hours baring his shins to the sun had borne fruit.

'I can't walk in these cursed things, Peabody,' he said, observing the direction of my gaze. He referred to his sandals, which appeared to be of beaten gold with curled-up toes.

'But you look superb, Emerson.'

'Hmph. Well, so do you, Peabody, though I prefer that garment you are, I am happy to observe, wearing under your robe.'

'Please, Emerson,' I said, blushing.

The difficulty about the sandals was soon removed by the appearance of a number of curtained litters, complete with stalwart bearers. I expected Emerson to balk at this, which of course he did; but his remark, as he stood staring at the dark-skinned, heavily muscled men, came straight from his noble heart. 'Bred for this,' he murmured. 'Bred like cattle. Curse it, Peabody...'

'Say no more, Emerson. I am with you heart and soul. But this is not the time to object.'

Emerson climbed awkwardly into one of the litters. Ramses hopped nimbly into another, followed by one of the attendants. I had one of the ladies with me, which was deuced annoying because in her effort to display great respect she refused to sit down, and she kept falling from her knees into my lap. I observed, from peeping between the curtains, that the bearers' legs were moving in perfect unison; still, it was not the most comfortable means of transportation I have ever experienced. As I had expected, we were being borne along the elevated roadway that led from the quarter of the nobles towards the temple. Darkness was almost complete; stars lay pinned like diamond ornaments upon the bosom of the night. A few lights showed from the fine houses on the hillsides above; but the village looked as if a thick black veil had been dropped over it. Curls of mist crossed it like gauzy scarves on a velvet wrap.

I placed my fingers on my wrist and noted, without surprise, that my pulse was a trifle quick. Never mind, I thought; a rapid heartbeat will send the blood rushing more strongly through my veins. We had been treated with great honour and respect, but that was no guarantee that we would survive the night. Again I found myself remembering the ancient Aztecs of America. I shifted position slightly, for the point of my knife was pricking my skin. I had seized the opportunity of secreting it upon my person when I assumed my combinations.

As we went on I resisted my companion's timid attempts to pull me back into seemly seclusion; from the litter ahead of mine I could see Emerson's head protruding through the curtains. The moon had lifted over the cliffs; it was not yet at the full, but in that cold, dry air its light was strong enough to cast a silvery patina over the scene, and it was one no scholar could resist. Moonlight over ancient Thebes! Not the mighty ruins that survive, but the hundred-gated city in its proud prime, with its palaces and monuments untouched by time. A pyloned gateway glided past; a row of Hathor-headed columns formed the portico to some great mansion. Now, on the right, came a broad staircase with couchant sphinxes lining the balustrades; above it towered walls carved with monumental figures. A brighter, ruddier glow brightened the road ahead. I craned my neck to see better, but the litters ahead of mine obscured my view until we were almost upon it: twin pylons soaring high into the heavens, their painted facades lit by flaring torches. Without breaking stride the bearers trotted through them into a court filled with columns like the Hypostyle Hall of Karnak.

At that point my attendant's remonstrations reached the point of hysteria, and since we passed dangerously close to some of the columns I reluctantly withdrew my head. When I next ventured to peek out I realised that the moonlight had disappeared. We were deep in the heart of the mountain, and as we moved on through room after room and passage after passage, I marvelled at the magnitude of the achievement. What multitudes of slaves, what countless centuries had been necessary to achieve such a mighty work?

At last the procession halted and the bearers lowered the litters to the ground. I managed to scramble out, though my trailing draperies got in the way.

Compared to some of the others I had seen, this room was fairly small. Woven hangings covered the walls; a stone-cut bench heaped with cushions ran along one side. The bearers picked up the litters and trotted out the way they had come. The women pounced on me and began straightening my skirts and poking the pins more securely into my hair, like lady's maids preparing their mistress for a state occasion.

I pushed them away and went to Emerson, who stood with one hand on Ramses's shoulder. He held out the other to me. 'Your little hand is frozen, my dear,' he remarked poetically.

'The air is chill.'

'Hmmm, yes. I wonder if -' He broke off as a brazen booming sound reverberated through the room. The chatter and laughter stopped. Our attendants formed into ranks, some before, some behind us. The hangings at one end of the room were lifted by invisible hands. Another great stroke of brass sounded, and the procession started forwards.

'We're for it now, whatever it may be,' Emerson remarked cheerfully. 'I only hope these cursed sandals don't trip me up.' I squeezed his hand.

The corridor we entered was broad but short, no longer than ten or twelve feet. At its farther end were other hangings, of such fine linen that the light shone through them, bringing out the rich patterns of embroidery that adorned them. They parted as we approached. Emerson tripped, but caught himself and went on. 'Good Gad,' I heard him mutter.

They were my sentiments exactly. We were in the innermost sanctuary of the temple - a vast, high chamber of noble dimensions. Columns divided the area into three aisles; down the widest, central aisle we marched in solemn silence, staring in wonderment at what lay ahead.

Strange as the sight was, it was not completely unfamiliar, for the temple was laid out on the same plan as those in Egypt. After passing through the pyloned gateway and columned courtyard, we were now in the sanctuary - the abode of the gods to whom the temple was dedicated. Quite often there were three of them, constituting a divine family - Osiris and Isis and their son Horus; or Amon, his consort Mut, and their son Khonsu. There were three statues in the niches at the end of this sanctuary, but they were not one of the usual triads. On the left was the seated form of a woman crowned with curving horns and holding a naked infant to her breast - Isis, suckling the young Horus. The statue must have been quite old, for the features of the divine mother were delicately carved, with none of the crudeness typical of Meroitic or Late Egyptian work.

The right-hand niche contained another familiar form, the rigid, mummiform shape of Osiris, ruler of the Westerners (i.e., the dead) whose death and resurrection offered hope of immortality to his worshippers. But the third member of the group, who occupied the central position of greatest importance, had no place in that divine family. It stood a good twenty feet high. Its tall, twin-plumed crown and the sceptre it held in its raised hand were of gold gleaming with enamel and precious stones.

'By heaven, it's our old friend Amon-Re,' said Emerson, as coolly as if he were studying a statue he had dug up from a four-thousand-year-old grave. 'Or Aminreh, as they call him here. Not in his usual form, but showing the attributes of Min, who is the one with the enormous -'

'Quite,' I replied. 'Oh, Emerson - I am not at all comfortable about this. I believe we are about to be sacrificed. Sun worshippers have a habit of sacrificing people, and Amon - '

'Don't be absurd, Peabody. Those trashy novels you read are weakening your brain.'

So vast were the dimensions of the temple that it required this length of time to reach the space before the high altar - for an altar was there, ominously stained with dark streaks. The procession stopped; our attendants retreated, fading into the ranks of the priests who filled both of the side aisles.

I had just observed the chairs that stood on either side of the altar when two men entered and took possession of them. One was Tarek, the other his brother. I tried to catch Tarek's eye, but he stared stonily ahead. Nastasen was scowling; he looked like a sulky child.

A long silence followed. Emerson began to fidget; he dislikes formal ceremonies of any kind, and he was itching to break ranks and have a closer look at the carvings on the walls and the altar. As for me, I found enough of interest in the scene to prevent me from growing impatient. None of the divine statues from ancient Egypt had survived in their original condition; these were all brightly painted, and certain elements, such as the beard on the chin of Amon and the crook and flail held by Osiris, were separate pieces of wood or precious metal. Now that my eyes had adjusted, I saw the wall behind the statues was not blank, as I had supposed, but pierced by several doorways. The niche in which Amon stood was deeper and darker than the other two. As I stared, narrowing my eyes, I seemed to see a hint of movement there.

At last the distant sound of music broke the silence. The shrill piping of flutes mingled with the mournful mooing of oboes; the ripple of harp strings was punctuated by the soft throbbing of drums. From an entrance at the back of the sanctuary the musicians entered, followed by priests robed in pure white, their shaven skulls shining in the lamplight. Murtek and Pesaker walked side by side, and although Pesaker's stride was longer and firmer, the older man managed to keep pace with him, though he had to break into a trot every few steps to do so. A veritable cloud of white draperies followed - the handmaidens, whirling in a solemn dance. I tried to count them, but I kept losing track as they circled and crossed in complex patterns. Their movements were dizzying; it was not until they stopped before the altar in a final whirl of fabric that I realised the pattern of the dance had circled around one individual, which now seated itself upon a low stool. Like the others, it was swathed entirely in white, but these draperies glittered with threads of gold.

I have described the ceremony that followed in a scholarly article (whose publication, I regret to say, must be delayed for reasons that will become apparent as I proceed), so I will not bore the lay reader with details. In some ways (unfortunately including the sacrifice of a pair of poor geese) it was reminiscent of what little we knew of similar ceremonies in the ancient world. Emerson gripped Ramses tightly when the geese were brought in, but I give the lad credit; he saw the futility of protesting. However, if he had stared at me as he stared at Pesaker, who wielded the sacrificial knife with obvious relish, I would have hired extra guards.

Following the sacrifice a group of priests trotted out with a huge linen sheet, elaborately embroidered, which they proceeded to drape over the stony shoulders of Amon. I did not see how they managed it, for they worked from behind the statue; one had to postulate scaffolding or ladders. When they came back into view they were leading a woman garbed more richly than any female I had yet seen, in a gown of sheer pleated linen, and crowned like a queen. Pesaker advanced to meet her and escorted her to the front of the statue, where she proceeded to embrace the feet and certain other parts of it, and to make a number of gestures whose import was only too plain but which it is not necessary to describe. Pesaker then took her hand and led her behind the statue, and she was seen no more.

Amon having received his due, it was the turn of Osiris and Isis. The veiled figure before the altar rose, lifting her hands. I had not recognised the implements they held; hearing the sounds that came forth as they were gently shaken, I knew they were sistra, the curious rattle-like instruments sacred to the goddess Hathor. Beads of crystal and bronze strung on wires produced a soft, musical murmur, like water flowing over stone. She shook them at Osiris, singing as she did so, then did the same before the statue of Isis; flowers were heaped at the feet of both statues by the handmaidens, and then she returned to her chair.

How, you may ask, do I know that the veiled form was female? Despite the muffling veils I could see that she was slight and graceful, and when she spoke, as she eventually did, her voice left no doubt as to her sex.

In fact, we first heard her voice when she addressed the god in song. It was a high, clear voice, and would have been quite pretty, I thought, if it were properly trained. The quavering ululations that passed for song here did not do it justice, but Ramses appeared quite struck by it; I saw him lean forwards, his face intent.

The priests scampered up the ladder again and removed Amon's robe; they folded it carefully, like housemaids folding a sheet. Pesaker made a final, almost perfunctory gesture of respect towards the statue... and then, with a suddenness that made me start, he whirled around and pointed at us.

I could not make out what he said, but from his impassioned tones and the expression on his face I got the distinct impression that he was not suggesting that we be raised to the rank of royal councillors. My hand stole to the breast of my robe.

'Calm yourself, Peabody,' hissed Emerson out of the corner of his mouth. 'There is no danger. Trust me."

If I had trusted the Nubian Robin Hood, I could hardly do less for my husband. My hand dropped to my side.

When Pesaker had finished, Nastasen rose, as if to comment further; but before he could speak, the high, sweet, and now fairly shrill voice of the mysterious veiled lady was heard. She spoke for some time, waving her arms like graceful white wings. When she finished, there was no rebuttal. Biting his lip in obvious vexation Pesaker bowed, and the whole group began to file out.

'Well!' I exclaimed, turning to Emerson. 'We are still honoured guests, it seems. I really expected Pesaker to demand we be put to death.'

'Quite the contrary. He invited us to come and stay here in the sacred temple area.'

'Yes,' said Ramses eagerly. 'And she - Mama, did you hear

'Certainly, Ramses, my hearing is perfectly good. But I confess I did not understand all she said.'

Our attendants, chattering among themselves, began leading us to the exit. Scuffling carefully along in the detested sandals, Emerson replied, 'The language of religious ritual often preserves archaic forms. The survival of Coptic, which has not been spoken for hundreds of years, in the Egyptian Christian Church - curse it!'

He was not referring to the Church (at least not on that occasion) but to his sandal, which had come off. 'But Mama,' said Ramses, fairly prancing with excitement. 'She - '

'Ah, yes,' I said. The litter bearers were waiting, grumbling, Emerson climbed into his. 'She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed - as this mysterious lady was. Veiled all in white lest her incredible beauty arouse the passions of all who behold her - '

Emerson's head popped out between the curtains of his litter. He was scowling horribly. 'You are speaking of a figment of some cursed writer's imagination, Peabody. Get in your litter.'

'But Papa!' Ramses's voice rose to a near shriek. 'She -'

'Do as your papa told you, Ramses,' I ordered, and took my place in the litter.

The return journey seemed to last longer than the trip to the temple perhaps because I was so impatient to discuss the remarkable events of the evening with Emerson. We might even natch a few moments alone; for surely Mentarit (or Amenit, as me case might be) would have duties to perform for her mistress before returning to us.

However, this expectation was doomed to disappointment. After delivering us to our rooms, the litter bearers departed. Not so our attendants. Emerson, who had removed his sandals and was carrying them in his hand, turned to the hovering group and bade them a pointed 'Good night.' They replied with smiles and nods, and continued to hover.

'Curse it,' said Emerson. 'Why don't they go away?' He gestured forcibly at the door.

The gesture was misinterpreted. One of the men took the sandals from Emerson's hand; two others darted at him and began removing his ornaments.

'They are preparing you for bed, I think,' I called, as Emerson retreated like a cornered lion harassed by snapping jackals. 'It is a sign of respect, Emerson.'

'Respect be - ' said Emerson, backing through the doorway into his room, followed closely by his attentive servants.

I resigned myself to receive similar attentions from the ladies. As their hands moved deftly and deferentially to divest me of my ceremonial attire, loosen my hair, and wrap me in the softest of linen robes, I told myself that one must adjust gracefully to different customs, however painful the experience may be. When they tucked me into bed I was reminded of the rituals of medieval days, when the newly married couple was escorted to the nuptial couch by hordes of well-wishers - many of them intoxicated and all of them making rude jokes. The ladies were not intoxicated, I believe, but they giggled a great deal; and when one of them indicated the door to Emerson's room, with a roll of her eyes and a series of extremely graphic gestures, they let out little screams and giggled again.

There was no sound from behind that door; the curtains remained closed. The ladies settled down by my couch and stared expectantly at me.

It had all been rather amusing, but something had to be done; my poor Emerson would never come out while they were present. I raised myself up and called to the white-veiled figure that sat in its accustomed place by the wall. 'Mentarit. Tell them to go away.'

It broke their hearts to obey, but obey they did. Mentarit left with them. After a moment the curtain quivered and was drawn aside just enough to allow Emerson's head to emerge. His eyes moved on a slow, suspicious survey of the entire room; then, pausing only to extinguish the one remaining lamp, he came to my side.

'How did you get rid of them, Peabody?'

'I asked Mentarit to send them away. She is also one who must be obeyed, it seems. How did you - '

'I sent them away myself,' said Emerson with an evil chuckle.

'They are a nuisance, I agree, but I believe they are a sign of our improved status. It's astonishing, isn't it? I thought we would be punished, or at least reprimanded for interfering with the discipline of the rekkit; instead we are even more respected.'

'Or feared,' said Emerson. 'Though that seems unlikely. Fascinating ceremony, wasn't it?'

'Yes, indeed, I believe it is safe to assume this was one of the religious rituals performed at set intervals to honour the gods. We were privileged to be able to observe it.'

'Privileged in more than one way,' Emerson replied thoughtfully. 'Professionally it was a remarkable experience, but even more remarkable, in my opinion, is the fact that we were invited to attend.'

'Oh, I imagine there were sinister undercurrents of which we were unaware,' I said cheerfully. 'Perhaps the High Priest of Amon hoped by this means to get his hands on us and subject us to imprisonment and hideous tortures. Or perhaps the High priestess of Isis had similar designs on our humble persons. Who was that other female, the richly dressed individual who made such - such unladylike advances to the statue of Amon?'

'Obviously she represented the god's concubine,' Emerson said. 'I couldn't quite make out her title, though Pesaker addressed her by it several times.' He took me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.

'High Priestess of Amon?' I tilted my head back. Emerson's lips moved to my temple.

'It didn't sound like it. The other lady, the one with all the swaddling, was certainly the High Priestess of Isis. Both may be king's daughters, which raises the question of how much real political power, as opposed to religious rank, they actually have. I mean to do a paper on that subject one day...'

`I have already begun a paper on that subject,' I murmured.

'Mama! Papa!'

It was not a cry for help from the adjoining room. It was a penetrating whisper from only too close at hand.

Every muscle in Emerson's body convulsed. Every muscle in mine cracked painfully as his arms contracted like bands of steel. I let out a gasp of protest.

'I beg your pardon, Peabody,' said Emerson, relaxing his grip but not his teeth. I could feel most of them, clenched and grinding, against my cheek.

I was unable to reply. Emerson patted my back and rolled over. 'Ramses,' he said very softly. 'Where are you?'

'Under the bed. I am very sorry, Mama and Papa, but you would not listen to me before and it is absolutely imperative that you -'

The bedsprings (straps of woven leather) creaked as Emerson lifted himself and propped his chin on his hand. 'I have never given you a sound thrashing, Ramses, have I?'

'No, Papa. Should you feel my present behaviour merits such punishment, I would accept it without resentment. I would never have stooped to such a trick had I not felt -'

'Be quiet until I give you leave to speak.'

Ramses obeyed; but in the silence that followed I could hear him breathing fast. He sounded as if he were on the verge of choking and I sincerely wished he would.

'Peabody,' said Emerson.

'Yes, my dear?'

'Remind me, when we return to Cairo, to have a word with the headmaster of the Academy for Young Gentlemen.'

'I will go with you, Emerson.' Now that the first shock had passed I was beginning to see the humour of the situation. (I am known for my sense of humour; my ability to make little jokes has got me and my friends through several tight spots.) 'So long as he is here, however, shall we let him stay awhile? He may be able to contribute something to our evaluation of the ceremony.'

'He may as well stay,' Emerson remarked gloomily. 'Conversation is the only activity in which I am able to engage at the moment. Very well, Ramses. You presumably overheard our discussion about the priestesses.'

'Yes, Papa. But - '

'It was the Priestesss of Isis who decided that we should remain in our present quarters instead of moving to the temple area. The High Priest of Amon, who suggested the latter course, was visibly displeased, but he didn't argue the matter. Now can we conclude that he wished to get us into the hands of the priests, and that she countermanded the order because she felt we would be safer here?'

'Pa - ' said the voice under the bed.

'The reverse might be argued, Emerson,' I said. 'We would be more closely protected in the temple. And perhaps closer to the tunnel through which we must escape.'

'Mama-'

'We agree, however, do we not, that two different, opposing factions are in contention for control of our humble selves?'

'At least two. Even if we assume that the High Priestess of Isis and Pesaker favour different princes, don't forget my visitor. He must represent a third party - that of the people.'

'Not necessarily,' Emerson argued. 'The theory of government by the people is alien to a culture such as this. The best the rekkit can hope for is a king sympathetic to their needs.'

'Democratic government may be an alien concept, but the seizure of power by an adventurer is not.'

'True. The next time you are visited by Robert of Locksley, you might ask him what his intentions are. I think we might have a little chat with the Priestess of Isis. That is a suitable task for you, Peabody; it would be only courteous to pay your respects. She may have been hinting at just such a visit when she said -'

'"From Greenland's icy mountains!"' Ramses's whisper was as forcible as a shout. '"From India's coral strand!"'

'I beg your pardon?' said Emerson.

The words tumbled out. 'She did not say it, Papa, Mama, she sang it. The hymn. When she sang to the god. Mixed in with the other words. "Hail Amon-Re great progenitor from Greenland's icy mountains, It is thou who wakens the child in the womb from India's coral strand." Mama, Papa - she sang it in English.'

'Another Pair of Confounded Young Lovers!'

Our response to Ramses's announcement was - quite without malicious intent - the most deflating we could have made. I stifled my laughter against Emerson's broad shoulder, and he said with kindly tolerance, 'Did she, my boy? Well, that is not surprising; the priestesses are all of noble birth, and as we know, many of them learned a bit of English from Forth. She may have intended a delicate compliment to her god by singing the hymn of another faith. Or even... I say, Peabody! Could it have been meant as a delicate compliment to us - a sign that she means us well?'

'I don't believe for a moment that she sang anything of the kind,' I replied. 'Ramses's imagination has run away with him. One could find any tune one wanted in the weird ululations of this music.'

'I assure you, Mama -'

'Oh, I am sure you thought you heard it, Ramses. Hang it all,' I added in mounting irritation - for Emerson's amusement had improved his mood and resulted in certain surreptitious gestures that belied his earlier fears - 'your papa and I have been amazingly tolerant of your outrageous behaviour. Off to bed with you this instant.'

From under the couch came a faint grinding sound. Ramses was trying to grit his teeth - one of the rather touching ways in which he strove to emulate his sire. He made no other objection, however, and his retreat was as silent as his approach had been. Only when the faint rustle of the hangings indicated that he had passed into the next room did Emerson continue with what he had been doing.

Our attendants reappeared the following morning, to Emerson's extreme annoyance. As soon as we had finished breakfast he declared his intention of paying a few social calls, first on Murtek and then, if it was permitted, on the princes.

If he had hoped to elude his attendants, the trick did not work. The gentlemen of the bedchamber were close on his heels. He did not return, so I concluded he had been permitted to leave the building, and I determined to do the same.

When I suggested I might call on the High Priestess, the shocked reactions of my ladies-in-waiting made it clear that I had committed a social error by even suggesting such a thing. The Priestess did not entertain visitors or leave her chambers except to participate in religious ceremonies. I felt very sorry for the poor creature; even Moslem women had greater freedom, for they could walk in their gardens and go out if properly veiled and attended.

'Is it the same for all the noble women?' I asked. 'Are they also prisoners?

They hastened to assure me that, first, the Priestess was not a prisoner and, second, that priestesses were subject to different rules. Other women came and went as they pleased. And where did they go? I asked. Oh - to the temple, to one another's houses, to wait on the queen and the royal children...

That gave me my opening. I announced that I would also attend Her Majesty, to whom they had referred by her ancient title of Candace. 'In my country,' I added, 'all visitors pay their respects [literally, go and bow down] to our Queen. It would be rude [literally, bad conduct] not to do it.'

After some discussion, the ladies agreed I had struck on an excellent idea. It turned out to be a much more complicated procedure than I had anticipated; every step had to be argued and discussed. Should someone be sent ahead to announce our coming? (Yes, she should.) What should I wear? (We were unanimous on that point; I was determined to go armed and accoutred, and the ladies seemed to think Her Majesty would like to see my peculiar clothing.) How should we go? (A compromise was finally reached; the ladies took the litters, I walked.) Should Ramses accompany us?

Ramses was nowhere to be found, which settled that question. The ladies seemed to think it was a game, something like hide and seek, and would have gone on looking for him all day if I had not announced my intention of proceeding without him. I was not concerned about his safety, since he could not get out of the house, and it had already occurred to me that the visit might go more smoothly without him. One never knew what he might say. So finally we set out. The sun was high and the temperature extremely warm, but I did not mind; it was such a pleasure to stride freely, breathing deeply and taking in the sights along the way. I fancy the litter bearers were pleased too, for they were obliged to match my pace, and although that pace was brisk it was a good deal less tiring than their usual trot.

The stone-paved causeway was in excellent condition. A group of the little dark people was engaged in making repairs on one section; they knelt at the sight of the guards, and remained in that position until after we had passed. I caught glimpses of others working in the gardens along the way. Parts of the hillside were beautifully terraced and landscaped, but others had been given up to weeds and brambles, among which fragments of the broken walls stood up like rotting teeth. I wondered whether the ruins were signs of a past civil war or of declining population and resources. Some decline was inevitable; it was a wonder this curious culture had survived as long as it had. The days of its isolation were numbered, I thought with a curious sense of regret. Sooner or later it would be discovered, not by solitary wanderers like ourselves and Willoughby Forth, but by the advancing tide of civilisation armed with weapons against which the spears and bows of the guardsmen could not avail. And then what would be its fate?

The residence of the Candace adjoined the temple on the western side; it was the impressive building I had noticed the night before and was, in fact, the royal palace. Owing to the uncertainty regarding the succession, Her Majesty was at present the only occupant, except for the usual clutter of concubines, servants, attendants, and hangers-on. I had learned from my ladies that she was the mother of Prince Nastasen, Tarek's mother having died when he was a child.

After the usual tedious ceremonies of welcome, I was escorted through a series of courtyards and entrance halls to a magnificently decorated reception room, where the queen awaited me; and I am sorry to admit that the sight of her - and her ladies-in-waiting - was such a shock that I forgot my manners and stood gaping rudely.

Her Majesty had dressed in her finest to do me honour. On her head was a cunning little cap surmounted by a bejewelled falcon whose wings curved down towards her cheeks. She wore heavy necklaces and gold bracelets; braided tassels adorned her gown, which was of the sheerest linen gauze with wide, pleated sleeves. It showed a great deal of the lady, and there was a great deal to show. She was incredibly obese, almost as wide as she was tall. Rolls of fat circled her body; her round, smiling face appeared to rest directly on her shoulders with no sign of a neck. The face itself was quite pretty, with delicate features strongly resembling those of her son. Though her rounded cheeks dwarfed them, they suited her better than they did Nastasen, and her little dark eyes twinkled with amiable curiosity. Her ladies were also elegantly dressed and several of them were almost as large, though none equalled the imposing dimensions of the queen.

She did not rise to greet me - I imagine it would have taken two or more strong men to hoist her to her feet - but she welcomed me in a high, chirping voice and indicated a nest of cushions that had been placed at her side. Conquering my amazement with my customary savoir faire, I bowed politely and sat down.

Mentarit had not accompanied us, so I had to make do without an interpreter. This proved to be an asset rather than a handicap, for my blunders and peculiar accent delighted the ladies - Her Majesty most of all - and laughter broke the social ice. The laughter was good-natured; the queen chuckled just as merrily at her own attempts at an English greeting. I could not resist asking her age. After considerable discussion and counting on the fingers, of herself and her ladies, she informed me that she was thirty-two. I was incredulous at first, but upon reconsideration I realised she might have become a mother at the tender age of fourteen, as some unfortunate girls do in Egypt and Nubia even today. That would make Nastasen, and Tarek, who had been born in the same year, eighteen years of age - mere youths by English standards, but not by the standards of this society. They had probably 'cut off the sidelock of youth' before they reached their teens.

Her Majesty's innocent curiosity and her excessive hospitality foiled further attempts to question her. Vast amounts of food and drink were pressed upon me. Though I did my best, for fear of seeming discourteous, I could not begin to emulate the consumption of the queen and her ladies, and my lack of appetite distressed Her Majesty. Pinching my arm and shoulder, she shook her head sympathetically. What sort of - was my husband, that he starved me?

I could not think of an answer that would exonerate Emerson without insulting Her Majesty, so I flexed my muscles and smiled to show I enjoyed perfect health and happiness. This provided a useful distraction in turning the queen's attention to my attire. I had to display and explain the use of every object on my belt. The ladies of the court edged closer and all hung breathless on my words. My parasol was a great attraction; they understood its function, for they possessed sunshades of various kinds, but the mechanism fascinated them, and I had to raise and lower it a dozen times before they tired of it.

I considered giving it to the queen, but decided I dared not part with any potential weapon. Instead, when she indicated that the audience was over by presenting me with an elaborate gold bracelet from her own wrist (it slid up clear to my shoulder and was loose even then), I gave her my mending kit. It was no great loss to me, and it proved an enormous success. The slim shining needles, the fine, coloured threads had already been admired, and as I bowed myself out I saw one of the ladies squinting desperately at a needle as she tried to thread it, while the beaming queen forced the silver thimble onto the tip of her little finger.

The walk back relieved some of the distress resulting from my overindulgence in sweetmeats, but the sight of the table spread for the midday meal would not have stirred my appetite even had I not found a more attractive distraction in the presence of my husband. He scolded me for having been gone so long in such a cheerful voice that I realised he must have learned something of interest. He was in no hurry to enlighten me, however. Instead he held a chair for me and inquired how I had spent the morning.

'Eating,' I replied, repressing an unseemly sound of repletion. 'I don't think I can force down another morsel."

'Nor I.' Emerson eyed the bowls of stew and fresh fruit with loathing. 'Murtek was an assiduous host. Was it the High Priestess who entertained you, Peabody?'

I explained. 'Emerson, you should see the queen,' I went on 'except for being prettier, she looks exactly like the Queen of Punt in the reliefs from Hatshepsut's temple! You remember her, a great rotund figure standing next to her tiny donkey?'

'One of the many indications that the ancient Egyptians had a sense of humour,' Emerson agreed with a grin. 'The royal ladies of Meroe were constructed on similar lines. So you don't believe Her Majesty is another Agrippina or Roxelana?'

His reference to the ambitious royal mothers of Rome and Turkey meant nothing to our attendants, but of course I understood what he was driving at. 'No. I managed to get in a few questions about her son and the succession; she replied simply that the god would decide, and I would swear she meant it. You know I am an excellent judge of character - '

'Hmph,' said Emerson.

'Furthermore, her extreme corpulence must make mental as well as physical exertion difficult. I wonder,' I went on, struck by a new idea, 'if that explains the size of the royal ladies of Meroe. Stuffing them like geese would be one way of keeping the women from interfering in affairs of state - and, I must confess, a more humanitarian method than assassination or imprisonment.'

Emerson studied me speculatively. Then he shook his head with a certain air of regret. 'You and I both know obese individuals who are as energetic as anyone. And some of the Meroitic reliefs depict the queens spearing captives with girlish vigour and enthusiasm.'

'True.' I forced myself to take a bite of stew. 'I doubt that adding a stone or two to my weight would change my character.'

'I don't have any doubts on the subject,' Emerson declared. 'And I hope you will not be tempted to try the experiment. Did you learn anything more of interest from the lady?'

'Not really. What about you?'

'I cannot even look at food,' Emerson announced, pushing his chair away from the table. 'If you have finished, Peabody, come walk in the garden with me.'

Thus far we had said nothing that was not already known to our attendants, but I could see he had matters of a private nature to discuss, and I tried to think of a tactful manner of escaping our entourage An invitation to partake of the food which we had scarcely touched distracted the men; when the ladies would have followed us, I sent them to look for Ramses. He had been missing the entire morning, so my maternal concern was not entirely feigned.

'Well?' I demanded, as we strolled by the pool. 'Did you see Tarek?'

'No. I was informed that both princes were busy with affairs of state. However, Murtek received me cordially and kept me the entire morning. I like the old fellow, Peabody; his is the mind of a true scholar. He was the only adult who had the intellectual curiosity to learn English from Forth, and question him about life in the outside world.'

'Murtek's English is not as good as Tarek's.'

'Murtek was handicapped by learning the language late in life. A youthful tongue twists itself around strange sounds more readily. Tarek's intelligence is certainly of a high order; according to Murtek he was Forth's prize pupil, going on with his studies after many of the other young people had lost interest and dropped away. Murtek did the same, and he spoke of Forth with what sounded like genuine affection. He possesses that rare and admirable quality of intellectual curiosity - love of knowledge for its own sake. You should have heard some of the questions he asked me, about our government, our history, even our literature. At one point I actually found myself trying to explain Hamlet's "too solid flesh" soliloquy.'

'Shakespeare?' I cried. 'Emerson! Do you realise what this means? Did Murtek show you the book?'

'No, why should he? He...' Emerson stopped and stared at me. 'Good Gad, Peabody, you must think me a complete idiot. I was so fascinated by encountering a mind of that calibre, the connection never occurred to me. Forth must have had a copy of Shakespeare with him; how else would Murtek know of it?'

'There are other possibilities, I suppose,' I admitted. 'The Bard has been in print, in various editions, for a good many years, and Mr Forth can't be the first outsider to have come here. This may have been a coincidence. Murtek did not actually show you the volume in question, and my nocturnal visitor told me to await a messenger.'

'Yes, but circumstances may have changed,' said Emerson, looking chagrined. 'I don't know how the devil Robin Hood managed to get in here the first time; he may not be able to do it again. I learned quite a lot more about the political situation from Murtek. He said nothing that could be viewed treasonable - his attendants and mine were hanging on every word - but I feel sure he expected me to have sufficient intelligence to understand the implications. You know, of course, that in ancient Egypt the distinctions we make between politics and religion were meaningless. The king was a god and the priests were also state officials.'

'What has that to do with the situation here?'

'It has everything to do with it. Over the centuries, as was the case in Egypt, Amon took over the powers and attributes of other gods - Re, Atum, Min - the one with the enormous - ' 'Yes, Emerson, I am familiar with the process. It is called syncretism.'

'Correct. Well, Osiris is the one god Amon could never quite manage to assimilate. The two are so completely different -Amon-Re the great and powerful king of the gods, remote and awe-inspiring; Osiris the suffering redeemer, who died as ordinary mortals do, and who lived again. His devoted wife Isis, the divine mother, also has great popular appeal.

'The other gods - Bes, Bastet, Apedemak, the old lion god of Cush - have their followers here, but only two cults really matter - that of Amon-Re, as represented by that sour-faced old villain Pesaker, and that of Osiris and Isis - whose high priest is our friend Murtek.'

'I see. That explains the strange configuration of the images we saw last night - Aminreh, Isis and Osiris, instead of one of the usual divine families.'

'It also explains the disagreement between Pesaker and the Priestess of Isis over our humble selves.' Emerson stretched, sending muscles rippling under his thin linen shirt. 'Flattering, isn't it, to be fought over by a pair of gods?'

'You mean by their mortal representatives, Pesaker and Murtek - for the High Priestess of Isis undoubtedly spoke for the latter. It is the same old humdrum power struggle, Emerson; do we assume that Amon supports one of the princes and Osiris the other?'

'I wish it were that simple. Both princes must want the support of Amon; it is his priests who determine the choice of the god. Both priests want a prince they can control. I expect there is a good deal of bargaining, bribery, blackmail, and intimidation going on behind the scenes. But that was not the most interesting information I gained today, Peabody. Murtek is a sly old fox - he would not have survived in this hotbed of intrigue if he were not - but as he walked me to the door he dropped a remark that went through me like a jolt of electric current.'

'Well?' I demanded.

The curtain of green vines behind us rustled. It was only a breeze, which caressed my cheeks gently, but Emerson took my hand and raised me to my feet. 'Let us stroll, Peabody.'

'It is unworthy of you to prolong the suspense this way, Emerson!'

'I don't want to be overheard.' Emerson put his arm around my waist and drew me closer. 'Peabody - there is another white man here!'

Emerson had to stifle my questions by drawing me behind a flowering shrub and placing his lips firmly on mine. It was a refreshing interlude in every sense, and when at last I was free to speak I was able to appreciate why he had acted as he had.

'You didn't pursue the matter - ask who the man was, and where he lives?' I whispered.

Emerson shook his head. 'Murtek went on talking, with scarcely a pause, and the cursed courtiers gathered around us. It was very craftily done, a casual reference to something the other white man" had told him recently; even if it had been overheard, it might have been no more than a slip of the tongue.'

'Could it be Willoughby Forth after all? If they lied about his death -'

Emerson cut off my voice by squeezing the breath out of me. 'Keep calm, Peabody, I beg you. I believe that to be highly unlikely. You have forgotten another candidate.'

'Of course,' I breathed.

I had not forgotten poor Reggie Forthright, and I trust the Reader has not. We had discussed his sad fate on several occasions, but had been forced to trust in Fate, the Good Lord, and the military (not necessarily in that order) for his deliverance, since there was nothing we could do. Now the truth burst upon me like a blinding revelation and I wondered why the possibility had not occurred to me earlier.

'The wild men of the desert,' I said. "The same "wild men" who succoured us, perhaps ? But we saw no trace of him along the way.'

'He could have been off course by as little as fifty yards and we would have missed those traces. Inept as he was in all other ways, I would not be surprised to learn that he could not read a compass. Don't count on its being your friend, though, Peabody. Many people were reported killed or missing during the Mahdist rebellion.'

'No matter who it is, we must see him. I think you are right, Emerson; dear old Murtek meant us to know this, and to act upon it. But how?'

One of the ladies appeared at the entrance to the garden. Emerson directed such a hideous scowl at her that she squealed and retreated. 'Thus far fortune seems to favour the bold. In other words, I shall simply demand to be taken to "the other white man." We'll see what comes of it.'

The lady had come to tell us Ramses had been found - or rather, had returned of his own accord. He was seated at the table finishing off the food left from luncheon and feeding scraps to the cat. The cat was sleek and clean as ever; the boy was covered with dust and cobwebs. When I ordered him to go and wash, he protested that he had washed - his hands. Upon inspection they proved to be several degrees cleaner than the rest of him, so I did not insist.

'Where have you been?' I asked. 'We have been looking all over for you.'

Ramses stuffed a huge piece of bread in his mouth and waved a hand towards the back part of the building. I took this to mean that he had been engaged in his self-appointed project of copying the wall paintings and inscriptions. I gave him a stern lecture on table manners - for his had deteriorated markedly under the influence of our attendants - and on the rudeness of hiding from people who were searching for him.

Emerson had gone at once to the guards to put his plan into effect. He returned, scowling and muttering.

'They prevented you from leaving?' I asked.

'Not at all.' Emerson dropped heavily onto a chair. 'They professed not to understand what I was talking about.'

'Perhaps they did not, Emerson. The poor fellow may be a closely guarded prisoner.'

'Or a figment of my imagination,' Emerson muttered, fingering the cleft in his chin. 'No; no, confound it, the words were perfectly clear. Now what do we do?'

Ramses requested elucidation, and his father obliged. 'Most interesting,' said Ramses, fingering his own chin. 'It would seem to me that one might now request - or demand - information from someone higher in authority.'

'Precisely what I was about to suggest,' I said. 'One of the princes?'

'Both of them,' said Ramses.

So we put our heads together and composed a miniature Rosetta Stone, with the message in both English and Meroitic. Once we had settled the phraseology to our mutual satisfaction, I made a copy, and Emerson carried both of them to the guards.

'No difficulty about that, at any rate,' he said upon returning. 'I was assured they would be promptly delivered. Now all we can do is wait.'

'I am getting very tired of saying and doing that,' I declared. 'Waiting is not our style, Emerson. I yearn to act. A bold stroke, a coup d'etat - '

'I suppose you could march into the village waving your parasol and call the rekkit to arms,' Emerson replied, reaching for his pipe.

'Sarcasm does not become you, Emerson. I am quite serious. There must be some way we can increase our prestige, inspire awe and terror... Emerson! Is there by chance an eclipse of the sun imminent?'

Emerson took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at me. 'How the devil should I know, Peabody? An almanac is not standard equipment on an African expedition.'

'I should have thought of it,' I said regretfully. 'From now on I will make certain I carry one. It would be so convenient -an eclipse, I mean.'

'So would the arrival of the Camel Corps with pennons flying,' remarked Emerson, upon whose sense of humour delay seemed to have a deleterious effect. 'Curse it, Peabody, astronomical effects don't occur so conveniently, and total eclipses of the sun are fairly uncommon. What put such a fool notion into your head?'

Twice during the afternoon I went to the anteroom to ask if there had been a message for us. I was assured that when such a thing arrived it would be promptly delivered. Emerson's calm, as he wrote busily in his journal, only increased my impatience, and I was pacing the floor, hands behind my back, when finally I heard the slap of sandals and ringing of weapons that betokened the approach of the guards - not one, but several, to judge by the sounds.

'At last!' I cried. 'The message!'

Emerson rose to his feet, his eyes narrowing. 'Not a single messenger, by the sound of it. Perhaps Tarek has come himself.'

The curtain was thrust aside by the blade of a spear and two soldiers entered, dragging a third person between them. A cruel shove sent the prisoner staggering forwards. Unable to break his fall because his hands were bound behind his back, he dropped to his knees and toppled forwards, collapsing at my feet.

The prisoner was, of course, Reggie Forthright. His suit was crumpled and faded, and he was now the possessor of a heavy beard. Except for paler skin, which spoke of a long period of close confinement, he appeared healthy enough; indeed, if anything, his face was rather full. Lack of exercise might be responsible, but again I was reminded of the hideous rites of the ancient Americans, who fattened their prisoners for sacrifice.

Emerson rolled his eyes heavenward and sat down again. I knelt by the fallen man and... But a description of my actions would, I fear, be repetitious. Before long Reggie was seated and partaking of some wine to restore his strength.

Questions poured from my lips, only to be met by an equal flood of questions from Reggie. It was some time before we could attain a degree of calm that permitted coherent statements.

Reggie insisted that first I describe our journey and what had befallen us since. Emerson showed signs of increasing impatience as my narrative proceeded; after I had described our visit to the village, and the rescue of the woman and child, he cut me off. 'You are getting hoarse, Peabody. Let Mr Forthright tell us his story.'

Reggie admitted, in his engaging way, that he had promptly got lost. 'At least I must have done, Mrs Amelia, for I never saw the landmarks you described. I thought nothing of it at the time, for like the professor here I always doubted the accuracy of my poor uncle's map. But after hearing of your journey... It is unaccountable! I am not so stupid as to misread a compass.'

'Not so unaccountable, perhaps,' I said thoughtfully. 'Your copy of the map may have been in error.'

'I assure you,' Reggie began.

'Never mind that,' said Emerson. 'If you failed to find the first of the landmarks, why didn't you turn back?'

'Well, you see, we did find water on the fourth day out, at which time we still had ample supplies for the return trip. It was only an abandoned well, which required considerable clearing before it was usable; but it gave us more time, you see. We had none of the misadventures you experienced, the camels were healthy and the men cheerful and willing. I determined, therefore, to continue for another day or two. I felt I could leave no stone unturned.'

'Very admirable,' I said warmly. 'So when was it that you were attacked?'

Reggie shook his head. 'It is all a blur, Mrs Amelia. I was ill afterwards... They struck at dawn. I remember only being roused from sleep by shouts and groans, and rushing out of my tent to see my men in full flight. I can't blame them; they were armed only with knives, and the fiends who pursued them had great iron spears, and bows and arrows.'

'You had a rifle, I believe,' said Emerson, chewing on his pipe.

'Yes, and I managed to dispatch a few of the devils before they overwhelmed me,' said Reggie, a look of grim satisfaction hardening his affable face. 'I fought all the more fiercely when I realised they were bent on capturing rather than killing me. A quick death would have been preferable to slavery. But 'twas in vain. A blow on the head struck me down, and I must have been unconscious for days. I remember nothing of the journey here.'

'Nor what happened to your men?' Emerson asked.

Reggie shrugged. 'Some of them may have got away - only to die miserably of thirst, I suppose. But now it is your turn again, Mrs Amelia - how long have you been captives here? What plans have you made for escape? For knowing you and the professor, I cannot believe that you would accept imprisonment meekly.'

'You have a rather theatrical way of putting things, Mr Forthright,' said Emerson. 'This place is an archaeologist's dream; I would be reluctant to tear myself away before I had made a thorough study of the fascinating survivals of Meroitic culture. We have not been treated like prisoners, but like honoured guests. And then, you see there is the little matter of our primary reason for coming - to discover the fate of your uncle and his wife.'

'They are dead,' said Reggie quietly. 'God rest them.'

'How do you know?'

'He told me.' Reggie tried to control his voice, but anger and erief distorted his face. 'Laughing like the fiend he is as he described their lingering, painful deaths by torture...'

'Nastasen?' I cried.

'Who?' Reggie stared at me. 'No. It was your friend Kemit -who is known here as Prince Tarekenidal, and in whose dungeons I have been imprisoned all these long terrible weeks.'

The interruption of Reggie's story was not occasioned by his overwhelming emotions or by any literary trick of mine, but rather by the reappearance of the servants, who began preparing the evening meal. Emerson ordered them to find quarters for the newcomer and went along to interpret, for Reggie admitted he had learned very little of the language. Shortly afterwards one of the guards came in carrying a knapsack, which I recognised as Reggie's; I sent one of the servants to take it to him.

Ramses had gone with his father and Reggie, but the cat had declined to accompany them, preferring to curl up on a pile of cushions. I sat down beside it. It opened one golden eye and uttered a peremptory comment. I stroked its head. The feel of the sleek fur was soothing and helped calm my turbulent thoughts I had always considered myself a good judge of character, but it appeared that I could not be right about both the characters in question. Either Reggie was a liar or Tarek was a villain of the deepest dye - and also a liar. But were these the only alternatives? Was another explanation possible?

Several occurred to me, in fact. Reggie had been ill, perhaps delirious. He might have imagined the whole thing, or mistaken one prince for the other. Like many ignorant white men he had difficulty distinguishing one 'native' from another, and the two men were superficially alike in appearance, especially in semidarkness. (It was a safe assumption that his cell was dark and dank; all of them are.)

Alternatively, Tarek may have deliberately deceived Reggie, for reasons that had yet to be determined.

I felt a great deal more cheerful after I had arrived at these theories.

In honour of our guest I decided to change my trousers for a robe. I had finished my bath and the ladies were drying me off when Emerson poked his head into the room. His scowl changed to a much more attractive expression when he saw what was going on.

'Send them away,' he said.

'But Emerson, they are - '

'I can see what they are doing.' He barked out an order that sent the ladies scuttling off, and picked up a fresh linen towel.

'Upon my word, Peabody,' he remarked, in the course of the activities that followed, 'you are becoming quite a sybarite. Will I have to supply you with obsequious slaves after we return to Kent?'

'I have no complaints about the service I am presently receiving,' I replied humorously.

'I should think not,' muttered Emerson. 'Why are we always getting into situations like this, Peabody? Why can't I conduct a simple archaeological excavation?'

'You cannot blame this situation on me, Emerson. And it is not at all like our other investigations.'

'It has some features in common with them,' Emerson argued. 'Your unfortunate habit of attracting members of the aristocracy for instance. Not just British aristocrats this time, but a whole extra set of nobility.'

The concomitant attentions he bestowed as he spoke made it impossible for me to resent the criticism. Good-humouredly I replied 'At least there are no young lovers this time, my dear.'

'I give you that,' said Emerson, giving me something else as well. 'It is a distinct improvement, Peabody, for which I am grateful. As I hope you are for this... and this...'

I expressed my appreciation in a proper fashion, but finally was forced to say reluctantly, 'My dear, I think I should get dressed now. We have a guest. You found proper quarters for him, I assume?'

'They suited me,' Emerson replied enigmatically. 'What did you make of his story?'

I assumed he referred to the startling revelation concerning Tarek and explained my theories.

'Hmph,' said Emerson, even more enigmatically. 'I would not be too forthcoming with Forthright if I were you, Peabody. Don't mention your midnight visitor or insist upon Tarek's virtues.'

The enigma was resolved. 'You never liked Reggie,' I said, allowing Emerson to wrap me in my robe and fasten my girdle.

'That has nothing to do with the case,' said Emerson. 'There are still a number of things he has not explained to my satisfaction.'

As it turned out, there were a number of things we had not explained to Reggie's satisfaction. When he joined us in the reception room the improvement in his appearance was considerable. The snowy robes set off his ruddy complexion and fiery hair, and his beard had been laundered till it shone like the setting sun. However a new constraint shadowed his frank face, and instead of resuming his narrative he chatted about the food and the objects on the table like a curious tourist. It occurred to me at last that the presence of the attendants might explain his reticence, so I dismissed them.

'Now you can speak freely,' I said. 'You were right to be careful; I believe we have become so accustomed to the servants we forget they are here.'

'Yes, I observed that,' said Reggie, avoiding my eyes. 'You seem quite at home here. Quite comfortable.'

Emerson, always sensitive to possible insult, caught the implication before I did. Dropping his carved horn spoon with a clatter, he snarled, 'What are you getting at, Forthright?'

'You wish me to speak candidly?' A flush warmed the young man's cheeks. 'I will do so; I have never learned the arts of trickery and deception. In the flush of relief at my release and the joy of seeing you alive and well, I forgot caution, but now I have had time to think things over, and I tell you frankly, Professor, that there are a number of things you have not explained to my satisfaction. My map was faulty; yours was accurate. I was captured and beaten; you were rescued and nursed. I have spent the past weeks in a dank, dark cell while you have enjoyed these handsome rooms, with food and wine and splendid raiment, servants obeying your every command -'

'Say no more,' I exclaimed. 'I understand your doubts, Reggie. You suspect our motives. But, poor boy, you are wrong. I cannot account for the difference in the treatment we have received, but we would never betray a fellow Englishman or -woman. If your aunt and uncle still live, we will never leave this place without them.'

'I - I beg your pardon?' said Reggie, gaping.

'It is given,' I replied graciously.

'Just a moment,' said Emerson, grasping his hair with both hands and tugging at it. 'I believe I have lost the thread of the discussion. Am I to understand, Mr Forthright, that you believe your aunt and uncle have survived after all? We too were told they had died - though not in the grisly fashion you mentioned.'

'I don't believe they are alive,' said Reggie. 'I only meant to ask - to suggest... I don't know what I meant.'

'That often happens in the course of conversations with Mrs Emerson,' said my husband soothingly. 'Get a grip on yourself, Forthright, and try to use a little common sense. I see your difficulty, but you surely cannot believe we want to spend the rest of our lives lolling around this palace.'

'Then - then you do mean to escape?'

'We mean to leave, yes. Sooner or later, by one means or another. It may be,' Emerson said thoughtfully, 'that we have only to ask. We haven't tried that.'

Reggie shook his head. 'No one leaves the Holy Mountain. How do you suppose it has remained hidden all these years? We are not the first wanderers to stumble upon the city, or be captured by the patrols that guard the approaches to it. The penalty for attempted escape, by stranger or citizen, is death.'

'Ah.' Emerson pushed his chair back and bent a penetrating look upon the young man. 'You have learned more than you told us earlier.'

'Of course. We were interrupted, if you remember.'

'Then please continue, from the point where we were interrupted. If you have decided to trust us, that is.'

'I don't know what came over me,' Reggie muttered. 'I apologise. But if you knew what I have been through...'

'We will take your sufferings as given,' said Emerson dryly. 'Go on.'

'Well, then. You must understand that we have fallen into the midst of a struggle for power...'

Most of what he told us was already known to us - the death of the king, the conflict between the two heirs to the throne. I would have said so, had not a peremptory gesture from Emerson forbidden speech; and indeed Reggie presented us with a new and quite different interpretation of those facts. 'Kemit, or Tarek, as I must call him, more or less admitted his brother is the legitimate heir. He referred to a rumour that his mother... that his father was really... that he is not...'

'Ah, yes, the old illegitimacy rumour,' said Emerson. 'Very popular with European usurpers. Tarek admitted it was true?'

'Oh, not in so many words; in fact, he denounced it as a vile slander. He protested a bit too much, though. And if he were the true heir, why would he need help from strangers?'

'Was it your help he wanted?' Emerson asked. 'A peculiar way of winning a man's allegiance, shutting him up in... a dank, dark cell, I believe you said?'

'The cell came about after I had refused,' Reggie said wryly. 'He wanted me to assassinate his brother. What else could I have said but no?'

'You could have said yes, and then warned Nastasen,' said Emerson. 'Forthright in name and forthright in manner, eh?'

'Why you?' I inquired. 'With so many methods of murder to choose from and so many loyal men about him - '

'Ah, but his brother has loyal supporters too. Assassination is an old custom here, the nobles all employ food tasters and bodyguards. But they don't have firearms. I am a crack shot, and could pick Nastasen off at a distance.'

I was loath to abandon my favourable opinion of Tarek, but this story made terrible sense. 'What are we to do?' I murmured. 'It is impossible to know whom to trust.'

Reggie pulled his chair close to mine and spoke in a whisper. 'We must escape, and soon. The festival of the god is approaching. Tarek must kill his brother before then if he is to win the kingship, for the god will choose the rightful heir. If we do not get away, we will be faced with the horrible choice of killing or being killed.'

'Not much of a choice,' muttered Emerson. 'I doubt the assassin would enjoy a long life span. You are very well informed, Forthright, and Tarek is incredibly indiscreet. Did he tell you all this?'

The sun was sinking in the west; a mellow dusky light warmed the chamber. Reggie's lips parted in a smile. 'No. My informant was quite another person. Had it not been for her tender nursing, I would have died of my wounds. When we escape, she will go with us, for I will never love another.'

Emerson's fist came down on the table with a crash that made the crockery rattle. 'Damnation! I knew it! Another pair of confounded young lovers!'

After Emerson had calmed himself, Reggie went on with his story - and quite a touching tale it was. It seems that initially his treatment had been similar to ours. Waking, in a fresh, airy, sunlit chamber, he had found himself tended by one of the white-robed maidens, who, as I have said, acted as physicians in this society. Women are very susceptible to handsome, wounded young men; it was not long before the lady was prevailed upon to unveil, and, as Reggie expressed it (rather tritely, I thought), to see her was to love her. The absence of a common language is never a barrier to love and the handmaiden spoke some English - enough to warn him of his danger and enlighten him as to the desperate situation he faced. 'She risked her life in telling me,' Reggie whispered, tears suffusing his eyes. 'And she would have done more, but soon afterwards I had my final confrontation with the prince, and he ordered me thrown into the dungeon. Now that I am free - ' He broke off with a hiss of breath as a white-veiled form materialised in the shadows.

'Not your ladyfriend?' Emerson inquired, turning to inspect the girl curiously.

Reggie shook his head. 'Cursed if I know how you can tell,' Emerson said. 'Swaddled to the eyebrows as they all are.'

'The eyes of love can pierce the thickest veil, Emerson,' I remarked.

'I don't know about that, Peabody. I can think of at least one occasion when your eyes failed to pierce the mask I wore.'

'I was too intent upon avoiding recognition myself,' I replied. 'You knew me, though, in spite of my own mask.'

'My dear Peabody, you are unmistakable.'

Reggie made agitated gestures for silence. 'Watch what you say in the presence of the handmaiden. Many of them understand English, and if they discovered my beloved's treachery - for so they would view it - it would mean her death. Not to mention ours!'

'Surely they would not betray a friend, a sister,' I whispered.

'You don't understand the effect of superstition on the minds of primitive people,' Reggie said - a glaring underestimation of our talents, which wrung a snort of disgust from Emerson. 'These girls have been raised from infancy to believe in their pagan gods and in their own status. They are virgins...'

He broke off, as Mentarit (I recognised her by her walk) approached to light the lamp. After she had withdrawn, Reggie went on, 'The handmaidens are all of noble birth; some are princesses of the royal house. After they have served a designated time, they are given in marriage to men selected by the king for that honour.'

'How appalling,' I exclaimed. 'Given in marriage, like prize cattle... They have no choice in the matter?'

'Naturally not,' said Emerson. 'If the right to the throne passes through the female line, as we surmised, the marriage of a princess becomes a matter of state. Hmmm. I wonder which -'

'Sssh!' Reggie leaned forwards, an anxious frown wrinkling his brow. 'You are about to venture onto dangerous ground, Professor. I will explain at another time; too many ears are listening.'

Indeed they were. The lamps had been lighted, preparations for the evening meal were under way, and our attendants had begun to take their places. Emerson took Ramses off to be washed.

'See if you can discover her name,' Reggie whispered, indicating Mentarit. 'A few of the girls are sympathetic to us.'

'I know her name. So far only two of them have waited upon us, and I have talked with both. That is Mentarit.'

A deep groan escaped the lips of the young man. 'I feared as much. In the name of heaven, Mrs Amelia, take care! Of all the handmaidens, she is the most dangerous.'

'Why?' His fear was infectious; my breath quickened.

'She didn't tell you who she is? But then she would take care to avoid the subject. She is one of the royal heiresses - and Tarek's sister.'

'When I Speak the Dead Hear and Obey!'

Emerson took a sip of beer and made a horrible face. 'If I had any inclination to remain here, beer for breakfast would change my mind. What I wouldn't give for a decent cup of tea!'

'You could have goat's milk,' I said, sipping mine.

'It tastes worse than the beer.'

Reggie had finished his beer. He held out his cup and one of the attendants rushed up to refill it. Though he had retired early the night before, he had been late joining us for the morning meal, and he was looking rather seedy. He refused my offer of medication, however, saying that he was only feeling the delayed effects of his imprisonment.

'Have some of this porridge stuff, Forthright,' Emerson said solicitously. 'It's not half bad if you pour a pint of honey over it. Some variety of dura, do you think, Peabody?'

Reggie pushed the bowl away with a grimace of distaste. 'I can't eat a mouthful. I wonder that you can.'

'We need to keep our strength up,' Emerson declared, spooning up the last of his porridge. 'Perhaps you ought to have a rest, Forthright. Mrs Emerson and I are going out for a while.'

Reggie looked up in alarm. 'Where are you going?'

'Oh - here and there, around and about. I would hate to miss any opportunity of studying this fascinating culture.'

'Your nonchalance astonishes me, Professor,' Reggie exclaimed. 'I don't think you fully realise the peril of your situation. A wrong word here, a thoughtless action there -'

'Your concern touches me,' said Emerson, patting his lips with the linen squares that had been (at my insistence) supplied us in lieu of serviettes. Such articles were unknown here, and it pleased me to think that I had contributed in some small measure to the development of civilisation in this backwards culture.

Reggie offered to go with us, but was easily dissuaded by Emerson, who flatly refused to entertain such a notion. Somewhat to my surprise Ramses also decided to remain behind. I assumed he was hoping to find his friend the cat, for he went into the garden as soon as he had finished eating.

The guards made no difficulty about our leaving the building, but we had to accept an escort. Emerson fussed about it until I reminded him they were only following orders. 'Furthermore,' I added, 'Reggie's story must inspire a certain degree of caution even if one assumes, as I do, that his view of the situation is unduly pessimistic.'

'Oh, bah," said Emerson, thereby admitting the truth of my argument.

The soldiers took up their positions, two marching ahead of us, two bringing up the rear. Emerson set a brisk pace, bounding down the staircase like a mountain goat and turning immediately onto the causeway. I looked down at the village below; I fancied I could smell it, even from this distance. 'What are we going to do, Emerson? There has been no word from... you know who. If Reggie really can make arrangements for... you know what, shall we - er - you know?'

'I don't see how we can decide yet,' Emerson said. 'There are too many unknowns in that equation.'

'Then we ought to resolve them, Emerson.'

'Precisely what I am doing, Peabody.'

'Where are we going, then?'

Emerson slowed his pace and took my arm. 'You sound a trifle breathless, my dear; was I going too fast for you? We are going to look for Willie Forth's tomb.'

As we walked on, Emerson explained what he had learned from Murtek concerning the mortuary customs of this society. The tombs were all of the rock-cut variety, for with cultivable land so scarce it would have been impractical to build pyramids. 'It's a wonder these cliffs haven't collapsed,' Emerson said. 'They are honeycombed with tombs and temples and storerooms. The cemeteries are reserved for kings and nobles, of course.'

'What do the rekkit - '

'Don't ask, Peabody.'

'Oh.'

'There are several such cemeteries,' Emerson went on. 'A few generations ago a new one was begun on this side of the valley. Forth should be there, if he is anywhere. As a royal councillor he would rate a fairly handsome tomb. If we don't find it, we will have reason to question the veracity of our informants.'

'Very clever, Emerson,' I said approvingly. 'And while we are searching for the tomb in question, we can make observations about burial customs. I am glad I brought notebook and pencil.'

There was no difficulty in locating the entrance to the cemetery. It was marked by the monumental pyloned gateway I had noticed during our journey to the temple. The sloping sides and flat lintel had been carved with figures of the mortuary deities - Anubis, the jackal-headed god of cemeteries, Osiris, ruler of the dead, Ma'at, goddess of truth and justice, against whose feather symbol the heart of the deceased is weighed at the final judgment. The traditional conventions had been accurately, even slavishly, followed, but the crudeness of the carving indicated how much of the old artistic skill had been lost.

While we examined and discussed the reliefs, our escort stood watching us uneasily, but they did not interfere until we started up the stairs beyond the pylon. Then the young captain sprang forwards, barring the way. His speech was exceedingly agitated, but I caught the words 'forbidden,' and 'sacred,' repeated over and over. Emerson settled the matter by pushing him out of the way and going on. When I looked back I saw the four men were huddled together as if for protection, staring fearfully after us and making agitated gestures.

Despite the bright sunlight and sweltering heat the place had an air of brooding desolation. We met no one until we reached a stone-paved landing from which paths led out on either side, winding up and down and along the cliff.

Our booted feet thudding upon the stone of the stairs must have made the guardian priest doubt the evidence of his own ears. When he emerged, in stumbling haste, from the open doorway of the little shrine at the back of the platform, his eyes and mouth opened wide at the sight of us. Presumably he had been at his prayers, for his long white skirt was crumpled and dusty. His head had been shaved; sunlight striking off the stubble of grey hair made it glow like a saint's halo.

Emerson gave him no time to recover from his surprise. 'It is good that you are here,' he announced. 'We have come to pay our respects [lit. make offering] to our friend and countryman, the Royal Councillor Forth. Where is his tomb [lit. House of Eternity]?'

'Well done, my dear,' I remarked, as we followed the path the astonished religious person had indicated.

'If you take a man by surprise, Peabody, and behave with sufficient arrogance, he will generally do what you ask. But I expect that as soon as the fellow gets his wits back, he will rush off to ask for advice and assistance. We had best make haste.'

The path was wide, but on the left hand there was no parapet, only a sheer drop to a tumble of jagged rocks twenty feet below. On the right-hand side were the tombs, some on the same level as the path, some reached by flights of stairs. I had to fight the impression that I was looking at models or reconstructions, for although the plans were similar to many such tombs we had excavated in Egypt, I had never seen one in its original condition. Before each tomb the cliff had been cut back to form a shallow forecourt with a columned portico behind and a quaint miniature pyramid above. The white-plastered walls and painted reliefs shone bright in the sunlight. The doors leading into the rock-cut chambers of the tomb were closed with blocks of stone and flanked on either side by statues of the occupant. On each shady porch stood a large stela on which had been painted a portrait of the deceased, with his name and titles and the conventional offering formulas.

We hurried along, pausing at each tomb to read the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the stelae. 'Most of them seem to be high priests and councillors, and their families,' Emerson said, lingering to admire an attractive painting of the Last Judgment - Osiris enthroned, watching the weighing of the dead man's heart against the feather of justice. The deceased did not appear to be incapacitated by the absence of this organ; looking quite sprightly and dressed in his finest, he raised his hands in adoration to the god. His elegantly attired wife stood by his side. 'Curse it, Peabody,' Emerson went on, glaring at the blocked doorway of the tomb proper, 'I would give ten years of my life to get a look inside. What the devil, haven't these people enough gumption to rob tombs and leave them open for visitors?' 'Language, Emerson,' I said. 'I share your sentiments but I don't suppose tomb robbing is a very popular profession here.

Where would a thief spend his ill-gotten gains? Oh, curse it, where is the cursed place? Here's another confounded Cushite, and his wife and four of his children.'

'Language, Peabody,' said Emerson. `I think - ah! Look here!' The tomb entrance was the last on that section of the path.

In size and in the richness of the decoration it was at least the equal of the others we had seen.

'Yes,' Emerson murmured, tracing a line of hieroglyphs with his finger. 'Not the way I would have transliterated the name, but poor Forth's knowledge of the hieroglyphs was somewhat superficial. No doubt about it, though.'

'You think he composed his own funerary inscriptions?' I asked.

'I would have done. Oh, damnation I hear someone coming. Hold them off, can you? I need more time here.'

The guardian priest had sought instructions and had returned with reinforcements - two of his fellows and a more impressive figure carrying a long gilded staff and wearing a leopard skin slung over his white robe. I stationed myself squarely in the middle of the path, arranged a smile on my face, and opened my parasol.

It was quite a large parasol. Without pushing rudely past it, and me, the delegation could not proceed. They stopped. I explained that we had come to honour our friend, expressed innocent surprise when I was told that no one was allowed near the tombs unless he had undergone the proper ritual purification, apologised for our inadvertent error, and asked for details of the ritual. The higher-ranking priest sputtered and brandished his staff, but that was all the action he took. He was still sputtering when Emerson joined me.

'Thank you, my dear,' he said. 'We may now retreat with honour.'

So we did. The priest followed us partway, wearing the same expression I have seen on the face of our former butler when he was required to escort some of our more unconventional visitors to the door.

'Well?' I demanded, as we descended the stairs. 'Did Mr Forth leave a message for us?'

Emerson stumbled, but caught himself. 'Upon my word, Peabody, you have the most remarkable imagination! How could he have managed that? The texts are as formularized as The Lord's Prayer; any deviation would be noted and questioned.'

'What kept you so long, then? I thought our purpose was to learn whether or not Mr Forth had a tomb in the necropolis. It appears he did, and its size and location prove that he had attained high rank. It does not rule out the possibility that he met a sticky end, however. If he fell into disfavour - '

'You asked a question some time ago,' said Emerson. 'Would you like to know the answer, or would you prefer to go on speculating indefinitely?'

Our escort fell into place, before and behind, as we began to retrace our steps. I thought they looked a little gloomy.

'What else could you have discovered, if the texts were only conventional mortuary formulae?' I demanded, a trifle nettled at his critical tone.

'In this society,' said Emerson, 'a man's wives, and sometimes his children, are buried in the same tomb. You noted that, I believe.'

'Yes; their titles and figures appear on the... Emerson! Do you mean -'

'She isn't there, Peabody. The only name is that of Forth himself."

The sun was high and hot. From a persea tree on the hillside above, a small bird soared up, its feathers glittering bright as emeralds. A sand-coloured lizard, alarmed by our approach, slid over the edge of the parapet and disappeared. The rhythmic slap of the guards' sandals sounded like muffled drumbeats.

After a time Emerson remarked, 'You are uncharacteristically silent, Peabody. I hope that means you are considering all the possibilities before you make one of your dogmatic pronouncements.'

'I cannot imagine what you mean, Emerson,' I replied. 'I always weigh the facts dispassionately before reaching a conclusion. In this case we have not enough information about funerary customs to assert unequivocally that Mrs Forth must have been interred in the tomb of her husband. If our informant was correct, she passed on long before he did. She may have insisted upon Christian burial instead of succumbing, as I am sorry to see her husband did, to the influence of pagan ceremonial.'

Emerson gave me a suspicious look. 'Quite,' he said.

Despite the shade of my parasol (which Emerson irritably refused to share) I was bathed in perspiration by the time we reached our temporary abode. I was quite looking forwards to a bath and a cool drink, and the opportunity to discuss the conclusions I had reached with the others. However, there was a brief delay. Instead of dispersing, as they usually did, our guards formed up in a row. The leader, a handsome chap who appeared to be no more than twenty years old, barked out an order. With mechanical precision the quartet raised their spears and clashed them together, then flung them away. The weapons clattered and rang on the stone. The men dropped to their knees in a deep obeisance, then rose and began to march away, leaving their spears on the floor.

'What the devil,' I exclaimed, forgetting myself in my surprise.

Emerson stroked his chin. 'I wonder if this could be a Meroitic version of "morituri vos salutamus." Hi, there - halt! Come back here! Abadamu, curse it!'

His shout made the metal blades of the spears ring, and brought the marching men to a stop. None of them turned or answered, however. Emerson strode forwards. Taking the leader by the shoulder, he whirled him around. 'Why do you not obey?'

The young man swallowed convulsively. His face was dusky pale and his lips scarcely moved when he replied. 'O Father of Curses, we are dead men. The dead do not hear.'

It was the first time I had heard him address Emerson directly and I noted that the Meroitic words were a literal translation of the affectionate title by which Emerson was commonly known in Egypt. Tarek and his two lieutenants who had worked for us at Napata were the only ones who could have known of it; one of them must have mentioned it and the word had spread -together, I felt sure, with tales of the well-nigh supernatural awe in which my remarkable spouse was held by those who knew him.

'Damnation,' said Emerson. 'I should have anticipated this... You heard me, though,' he added in Meroitic.

The young man winced. 'The voice of the Father of Curses rolls like the thunder, and his hand is heavy as the hand of the god.'

'Good Gad, Emerson, what are we to do?' I exclaimed. 'We cannot let these poor fellows be punished on our account. Is it because they were unable to prevent us from visiting the cemetery?'

Emerson repeated the question in Meroitic. The young man nodded. 'We failed in our duty. The penalty is death. Now I will die the second death for hearing, for speaking. Will the Father of Curses take his hand from me so that I may die with my men?'

'I think you are hurting him, Emerson,' I said. 'His arm is turning blue.'

'If I let him go he will bolt,' Emerson said abstractedly. 'Discipline is certainly tight in these parts. Hmmm.'

The young officer stood passive in Emerson's grasp, his face as expressionless as that of the dead man he claimed to be. After a moment Emerson said, 'Stand back a bit, my dear Peabody.'

I did so, and as an additional precaution I clapped my hands over my ears.

'I am the Father of Curses,' Emerson bellowed, shaking the young man like a doll. 'When I speak the dead hear and obey! When I command, the gods tremble! The power of my voice troubles the heavens and makes the ground shake!'

He went on for some time in this vein. By the time he reached his peroration he had attracted quite an audience, a dozen or more soldiers, including several officers; a few of the attendants; and, unobtrusive as curious mice, some of the little servants. Ramses and Reggie came trotting in, and behind them was the white-robed form of the handmaiden - whichever one it was.

Emerson pretended not to notice them, but his voice rose to an even more penetrating pitch and his sparkling orbs betrayed his enjoyment. He is always at his best in the presence of a large audience.

'I forbid you to die!' he shouted. 'You are my men, you belong to the Father of Curses! Pick up your spears!' And, with a gesture as graceful as it was powerful, he sent the young officer staggering towards his fallen weapon.

I must say it was one of Emerson's most impressive performances. I felt an overpowering urge to rush off and pick up a spear myself.

One of the officers made a vague gesture of protest as the doomed men, looking a good deal more cheerful, hastened to obey. Quick as a cat, Emerson wheeled on him. 'The men of the Father of Curses are sacred! No man dares touch them.'

Turning, he offered me his arm. As we proceeded towards our apartments the audience melted away, leaving only Ramses and Reggie to greet us. 'Upon my word, Professor,' Reggie exclaimed, 'that was - that was certainly... Er - what was it all about?'

Emerson deigned to explain.

'It was a brilliant performance, my dear,' I said. 'And it has, I trust, gained us a few loyal adherents. Those men owe you their lives.'

'Don't count on it, Peabody. Old superstitions die hard. And it may backfire. Successful demagogues are not popular in tyrannical societies.' Emerson's frown cleared and he shrugged his broad shoulders. 'Ah, well, I had no choice in the matter. Now I want my bath. Where are those abominable attendants? Never around when you need them!'

After bathing and changing we sat down to an excellent meal and Emerson and I at least did it justice. I was forced to speak to Ramses about eating with his fingers and putting his elbows on the table. 'You are turning into a perfect little Cushite, Ramses,' I scolded. 'And your head is still bare as an egg. I told you not to let them continue shaving it.'

'They were quite insistent, Mama,' said Ramses.

'Then you must be more insistent. I won't have you going back to civilised society with your hair in that state.'

When the table had been cleared and the crumbs swept up, Reggie suggested we go into the garden. 'I must speak to Mentarit about Ramses's hair,' I said. 'I will not have... Where is she? I didn't see her leave.'

Reggie took my arm. 'That is what I wanted to tell you,' he whispered. 'She has gone back to the temple. It will be Amenit who returns.'

'Mrs Emerson is quite capable of walking without your assistance, Forthright,' said Emerson, scowling. 'Hands off my wife, if you please.'

Reggie jumped away from me as if he had been stung, and we proceeded into the garden. As we walked along the pool, the vines along the far wall swayed violently. A face peered down at us. It was covered with tan fur.

Ramses went to greet the cat with one of his peculiar murmuring noises. It replied in kind, but instead of jumping down, it began pacing along the top of the wall. Ramses trailed it, eyes lifted and arms extended, like a miniature Romeo in pursuit of a furry, ambulatory Juliet.

'One of the temple cats - here?' Reggie exclaimed. 'How do you know it is a temple cat?' Emerson asked, as I simultaneously inquired, 'The temple of Bastet?'

As courtesy demanded, Reggie answered me first. 'Bastet, Isis, Mut - all these heathen goddesses are the same. Her cats are of a particular breed, larger than the common kind and held to be sacred.'

'She won't come down,' exclaimed Ramses, sounding as pettish as any ordinary child. 'Mama, can you - '

'No, I cannot,' I replied firmly. 'Cats are not susceptible to the sort of persuasion one uses on human beings, and what is more, they are eccentric individualists - '

'Who possess extremely keen hearing,' Emerson said. 'I believe we are about to have a visitor, Amelia.'

Moved by an indefinable instinct, we moved closer together. The cat vanished and Ramses came to stand beside me. When the visitor appeared, following an escort of archers and white-garbed maidens, Reggie let out an oath and retreated to the far side of the pool.

Tarek - for it was he - seated himself in the chair a servant hastily placed behind him. His broad golden armlets glistened in the sunlight as he gestured; other chairs were brought, for us and for the men who had accompanied him. One was Pesaker, the High Priest of Aminreh. He did not appear to be in a pleasant frame of mind.

Neither was Tarek. The eyes he fixed upon us lacked the kindly look they had always held before, and instead of uttering the formal greetings he burst into angry speech. 'What manner of people are you, that you lack courtesy and gratitude towards those who have rescued you? Have you no respect for our customs? You violate one of our strict laws; we show you mercy, we restore your friend to you. Now you have committed sacrilege. If one of our people had acted in such a way he would die!'

'But we are not of your people,' said Emerson calmly. 'If we have offended we did so in ignorance, and we deeply regret having done so. We will make whatever reparation you think proper.'

'It is true that you are ignorant barbarians,' Tarek said thoughtfully.

The corners of Emerson's mouth twitched. 'True,' he said, with equal gravity. 'It is the duty of the wise to educate the ignorant, not punish them. Is not that also true?'

Tarek considered the idea. Pesaker's face darkened. He may not have understood all that was said, but he could see the prince's mood had softened and he was not pleased. 'What do they say?' he barked. 'Do not listen to them. There is no excuse(?) for their crime. I order - '

Tarek turned on him. 'You dare to order me? You do not speak for the god here. I will decide the fate of these offenders.'

I have sometimes been accused of being precipitate and of acting upon impulse. Such was not the case now. I had carefully considered what I meant to do, and in fact Emerson himself had made a similar suggestion. (Though of course he claimed afterwards he never intended it to be taken seriously.)

'We are most grateful for Your Highness's kindness,' I said. 'And as my husband has said, we deeply regret any inadvertent rudeness. Perhaps the best thing would be for us to leave. We will need camels - a dozen or so should be sufficient - and an escort as far as the oasis.'

Emerson choked and muttered something. The word might have been 'incorrigible.'

Tarek leaned back in his chair and studied me unsmilingly. 'What, would you leave us? Perhaps what you say is true; we should teach, not punish you. You could also teach us, and win great honour and high position.'

'Yes, well, that is very good of you, but I am afraid we must be going.'

Emerson had enjoyed a hearty if muffled laugh during the conversation. Now he sobered and spoke slowly and emphatically. 'You know why we came, Tarek. Our friend is found, as you see. You tell me that the others we sought are with the gods. We have accomplished our task. It is time for us to return to our own place, our own country.'

The High Priest followed that speech, or part of it. (Was that why Emerson had used simple words and spoken slowly? I wondered.) Hands clenched on the arms of his chair, he burst out, 'No! It is forbidden! What, will you allow these strangers, these -, to defy the laws of - '

Tarek caught his eye, and he stopped.

'My friends,' said Tarek. 'For you are my friends; can my heart deny those whom I have loved, even when they love me not? If you must go, you will have your way, though I will mourn you as I would those who have gone to the god.'

'Somehow I don't like the sound of that,' murmured Emerson. Aloud he said, 'You will help us, then?"

Tarek nodded.

'When?' Emerson asked.

'Soon, my friends.'

'Tomorrow?' I asked.

'Oh, but such a journey cannot be arranged so quickly,' said Tarek, whose English had improved noticeably. 'A fitting escort, gifts... Ceremonies of honour and farewell.'

I didn't like the sound of that. 'Ceremonies,' I repeated.

'You wish to observe our customs,' said Tarek. 'Our strange, primitive ceremonies. That is your interest, is it not? That is one reason why you came. Yes. You will observe the greatest ceremony of all before you... depart. It is soon, very soon. And then, my friends... your departure.'

'Oh, dear,' I said. 'I fear I was sadly mistaken in our friend Tarek.'

'For one thing,' said Emerson, 'he speaks English much better than he led us to believe. A credit to his teacher, eh, Peabody?'

'Yes, although personally I found his style of speaking rather florid. He sounded exactly like - '

'How can you be so calm?' Reggie burst out. 'Didn't you understand the threat behind those suave words?'

'Why, I suppose they were meant to convey a threat,' said Emerson. He took out his pipe and gazed sadly at it. 'But what threat precisely? We have seen no indication that these people practice human sacrifice.'

'They do, though,' Reggie said, biting his lip. 'Tarek described in grisly detail

He broke off, shuddering. Ramses said interestedly, 'How is it done, Mr Forthright? In the old Egyptian style, by smashing the victim's head with a club, or - '

'Never mind, Ramses,' I said. 'If Mr Forthright is correct, we may have a firsthand opportunity to find out.'

'You astonish me, Mrs Emerson,' Reggie exclaimed. 'You are not taking this seriously. I assure you - '

'Let me assure you that we take it very seriously,' said Emerson, sucking on his empty pipe. 'But look on the bright side, Mr Forthright. If we have been chosen for the star roles in the performance they will take very good care of us in the meantime. I wonder..." He made a face and removed the pipe from his mouth. 'I wonder if Tarek could get me some tobacco. Obviously these people trade with some of the Nubian tribes.'

'Well, Professor, I must say you are a credit to the British nation,' said Reggie admiringly. 'Stiff upper lip, eh? If it's tobacco you want, I can supply you. I brought along an extra tin.'

'You did?' Emerson clapped him on the back. T will be in your debt, my dear chap. A nasty, dirty habit, as Mrs Emerson is always telling me, but I find it assists the process of ratiocination.'

One of the servants was sent to fetch Reggie's knapsack. After rummaging in its depths he produced a tin of tobacco, upon which Emerson fell like a starving man on a thick beefsteak. He filled his pipe, lit it, and blew out a great cloud of smoke. A look of blissful satisfaction transformed his face.

Reggie smiled, like an indulgent parent enjoying the pleasure of a child. 'Well, sir, are you now capable of ratiocination? We have no time to lose. Tarek's threats should have convinced you that I was right when I said we must escape before the ceremony."

'I never disagreed with your conclusion,' said Emerson mildly. 'I only wondered how you hoped to accomplish it.'

Reggie leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. 'The arrangements were made before I was imprisoned. Camels, guides, supplies - all will be ready. We can leave as soon as - '

'As soon as we are certain Mrs Forth is no more,' I said.

Reggie's mouth hung ajar. Emerson looked at me with a smile; Ramses nodded vigorously. Having got the floor, I proceeded. 'We have only the statements of people whose veracity is questionable to prove that the Forths are not alive. We came here in haste, risking much, because we feared they were in imminent danger.'

Reggie closed his mouth. Then he opened it.

'Don't waste your breath arguing with her,' said Emerson, smoking placidly. 'It never has the slightest effect. Continue, my dear Peabody.'

I told Reggie and Ramses of our discovery that morning. 'I have been accused,' I went on, 'of jumping to conclusions. I do not believe anyone can accuse me of doing so if I state that we are still uncertain as to the fate of Mrs Forth. Would you agree with that, Emerson?'

'Oh, certainly,' said Emerson, grinning around the stem of his pipe.

'But - ' Reggie began.

'Let me finish, please, Reggie. In the light of what we learned today, several other points take on new significance. We were told that Mrs Forth had "gone to the god." We took it to mean that she had died; but here, as in ancient Egypt, it might have quite another meaning. Now during the ceremony at the temple, the High Priestess of Isis recited, or sang, certain English verses. Put all these details together, and what do we have?'

'Are you asking me?' Reggie's eyes were wide. 'I fail to see what you are driving at. You cannot mean - '

'His wits are a trifle slow,' said Emerson to me. 'It's an interesting idea, Peabody. I had a strange feeling you were thinking along those lines.'

'I endeavoured to suggest that possibility, Mama,' said Ramses in an injured voice. 'And you and Papa implied I was imagining things.'

'We have acquired additional information since then, Ramses. I would be the first to agree that the sum total of it is inconclusive, but I must insist that we cannot depart without making absolutely certain that Mrs Forth is not a prisoner of the priests.'

'But,' Reggie stuttered. 'But Mrs Amelia - '

'I told you not to waste your breath arguing with her,' said Emerson. 'In this case I must say that I am in complete agreement. It is probable that Mrs Forth is dead, but we can't take the word of sinister savages, can we?'

'She is no savage,' Reggie said hotly. 'And she swore -'

'She may have been deceived,' said Emerson. 'You refer to your - er-- fiancee, I presume.'

'Er - yes. I cannot believe...' Reggie appeared dazed. Then he reached into his knapsack. 'She gave me this.'

The object he withdrew was a small book bound in shabby brown cloth.

'The Book,' I cried. 'Of course! Emerson - '

Emerson's teeth lost their grip on his pipe, which fell onto my lap. He leapt at me and began beating out the smouldering patches.

'I do beg your pardon, Peabody. I was caught quite by surprise.

'So I see. Curse it, I shan't be able to mend these holes; I gave my sewing kit to Her Majesty.'

'It is certainly a book,' Emerson went on, taking it from Reggie. 'The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins. I am not at all surprised; it is precisely the sort of literature I would have expected Willie Forth to enjoy. Yes, here is his name on the inside cover.'

'He gave it to her,' Reggie said. 'Upon his deathbed. She was his favourite pupil.'

'She,' Emerson repeated thoughtfully. 'Are you telling us that she - your friend - confound it, what is the girl's name?'

'She is Princess Amenit - the daughter of the former king.' Reggie smiled at our looks of surprise. 'You see now why I am so confident she can arrange for our escape.'

'Can she also arrange for us to see the High Priestess of Isis?' I asked.

'I don't think...' Reggie's face brightened. 'That won't be necessary; all we need do is ask her. She must know whether the woman she serves is - '

'I do not wish to question the veracity of your sweetheart, Reggie but you must see that her mere word would not be sufficient. She may be deceived; she may be so concerned with your safety that she would conceal the truth if it meant further risk to you.'

'I can't believe she would lie to me,' Reggie muttered.

'Mrs Emerson can,' said Emerson, knocking out his pipe. 'And so can I. We must see the High Priestess unveiled!'

'I could not have put it better myself, Emerson,' I said approvingly.

'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'It's a rather tall order, though. If she doesn't receive visitors, and dwells in the most remote areas of the temple... I doubt the high-handed methods we employed this morning would work, Peabody.'

'We can but try, Emerson. We must make the attempt.'

'Let me talk with Amenit,' Reggie said urgently. 'Promise me you won't do anything until I have consulted her. She may be able to arrange something, but if you go blundering in... Excuse me! I meant to say - '

'I will pretend I didn't hear it,' said Emerson, rising in awful majesty and scowling like Jove. '"Blundering"! Come along, Peabody it is time for your rest.'

We left Reggie frowning at his feet, deep in thought. 'You were a little hard on him, my dear,' I said 'And I really don't see how Amenit can get us admitted to the presence of the High Priestess.'

'There's no harm in asking, is there?' Emerson sat down beside me on the edge of my bed. 'Curse it, Peabody, I've got to the point where even a tombstone would fail to convince me. All we have is a series of unproven and contradictory statements; I don't know what to believe or whom to trust.'

'I quite agree, Emerson. By the way, thank you for setting my trousers on fire. I keep forgetting that Reggie has no more sense than a lizard. He certainly can't be the messenger promised us by my nocturnal visitor. But that little book of Mr Forth's was a strange coincidence. Could Princess Amenit be the messenger?'

'If so, she has taken a dangerously roundabout method of approaching us,' said Emerson. 'It may be no more than a coincidence after all; we don't know the size of Willie's library, or how many books he gave his friends and students. I recommend discretion on the subject of the rekkit with both young lovers, Peabody. People of that sort seldom give a curse about anything except their own precious skins.'

'I would not go so far as to say that. However, they are inclined to be gullible when they fancy themselves in love. Reggie may be deceived by this young woman.'

'Quite so. Confound it, Peabody, I hate to sneak away without having done something for those poor devils in the village. We'll have to mount a second expedition.'

'Of course. But I haven't given up hope of hearing from my mysterious visitor, one way or another.'

I looked forwards with great anticipation to the lovers' first meeting after so many days of separation and uncertainty. My sympathetic imagination visualised Amenit's tears of anguish as she contemplated her sweetheart's danger, her tears of joy when she learned of his deliverance. I pictured them flying into one another's arms - their embraces - their murmured endearments. And then they would wander off, hand in hand, to the seclusion of the garden, where, soothed by the humming of bees and the cooing of doves in the mimosa trees, they would lose themselves in the rapture of love restored and hope renewed.

I pictured it, but of course I knew it was romantic nonsense. Any open expression of affection would have to wait until after they had succeeded in their plan of escaping from the valley, for the latter hope would be doomed if the former were known. It was Amenit who came later, I knew that gliding walk of hers, but she paid no more attention to Reggie than she did to the rest of us, and he scarcely glanced at her. However, he soon excused himself and went to his rooms; and a short time later Amenit quietly vanished.

They were gone for quite some time. Amenit was the first to return. She went about her duties, imperturbably as ever (it is very easy to look imperturbable when one is completely swaddled in veils). My anticipation had risen to fever pitch before Reggie entered, yawning and stretching and declaring that he had had a most refreshing nap.