Half-expecting to see Ramses and Tarek, I was momentarily relieved to behold instead a little group of people wearing native garb. My relief was short-lived when I recognised the men, and realised that there were several women and small children in the group. Emerson uttered an oath (which was quite justified, but which I will not record) and started to rise. He was pulled back into his seat by a noose that was dropped over his head and pulled tight across his chest. I felt a similar constraint bind my shoulders and arms to the chair; a swift glance to my right assured me Reggie had been treated the same.

These men are twice traitors,' Nastasen announced. 'First for failing in their duty. Twice for giving their souls to the white magician. They will die, together with their families. But because they fought bravely in the service of my father the king, and because the magician cast his spell upon them, they will receive the honour of dying at the hand of the Heneshem(?).'

The ranks of priests before the alcove parted and a man emerged from it. He was no taller than the shortest of the priests, but he bulked twice as large, and all of his bulk was muscle. He wore only a loincloth; his entire body, including his head, had been shaved in accordance with the requirements of ritual purity. Heavy supra-orbital ridges and bulging cheeks reduced his eyes to small black circles, cold and polished as obsidian beads. His mouth was a wide lipless line, like a cut in dead flesh. So thick was his neck that his head appeared to rest directly on his massive shoulders. He looked as if he could crush a normal human body with his bare arms, but he carried a weapon - a spear whose blade was dark with old stains except for its point and edges, which gleamed like polished silver.

As he advanced, the torchlight turned his oiled skin the colour of fresh blood. He made a deep obeisance to Nastasen and a deeper one to the dark alcove, then braced his feet and stood waiting.

Thus far there had been no sound from the ranks of the doomed. Rigid and grey-faced, they stared with empty eyes at their executioner. In the front rank was the young officer. He had not looked at us, and he seemed oblivious of the woman who pressed close to him. She was hardly more than a girl, and in her arms she clasped an infant. Her face remained fixed, but her arms must have tightened, for the child began to cry.

The executioner's lipless mouth split. 'The babe weeps? I will stop its tears. And because the Heneshem is merciful, I will not leave its mother to grieve. Stand forth, woman, and hold the babe close.'

He raised the heavy spear as effortlessly as if it had been a twig. The crimson light slid along the bulging muscles of his arms. The young father groaned and raised his hands to cover his eyes.

Dry-mouthed with horror, I struggled to move my arms and reach my little pistol. I knew I could never do it in time.

When he is slightly irritated, Emerson bellows like a bull-When he is really angry, he is as silent and swift as a charging leopard. I heard the crack as the rope across his breast snapped like string. In one long leap he reached the nearest of the guards and wrenched the spear from his hand, sending him sprawling. There was a flash, a bolt of silvery light - and the blade of the spear, now dull and dripping, stood out a full twelve inches behind the executioner's back.

Oh, for the brush of a Turner, or the pen of a Homer! No lesser genius could convey the superb and passionate splendour of that scene! Emerson stood at bay, fists clenched. That incredible blow had burst all the buttons off his shirt and his bronzed breast heaved with effort A circle of spears menaced him but his head was proudly erect and a grim smile curved his lips. At his feet the body of the killer lay in a spreading pool of blood. Behind him, the condemned had come alive; falling to their knees, they held out their arms to their defender.

Emerson took a deep breath. His voice filled the vast chamber and rolled in thunderous echoes. 'The vengeance of the gods has struck down the killer of little children and unarmed men! Ma'at (justice, order) is served through me - the Father of Curses, the hand of the god!'

Through the entire assemblage rippled a united gasp of awe. Nastasen rose to his feet, his face swollen with fury. 'Kill!' he screamed. 'Kill him!'

'The God Has Spoken'

My throat was too constricted, my heart too full for speech. My eyes clung to those of my heroic spouse, and in the brilliant blue of their gaze I read undimmed courage, undying affection, and the acknowledgment of the admiration I would have expressed had I been able. His smiling lips shaped words.

'Don't look, Peabody.'

'Never fear me,' I cried. 'I will be with you to the end, my dear, and after. But I will not follow till I have avenged you!'

Nastasen let out a wordless shriek of fury. His order had not been obeyed. The men hesitated, none wishing to be the first to brave the mighty white magician's wrath. Gibbering and frothing at the mouth, the prince pulled the ceremonial sword from his belt and ran towards Emerson.

A voice rose over the murmur of the spectators. 'Stop! The Heneshem speaks. Heed the voice of the Heneshem.'

It was a woman's voice, high and sweet, and it stopped Nastasen as if he had run into an invisible wall. The voice went on, 'The ceremony is ended. Return the strangers to their place, The Heneshem has spoken.'

But - but - ' Nastasen stuttered, waving his sword. 'The guilty men must die. They and their families.'

Emerson folded his arms. 'You will have to kill me first.'

Take them back to their places,' said the high clear voice.

'All of them. Await the judgment of the Heneshem. The ceremony is ended. The voice of the Heneshem has spoken.'

The guards obeyed this order as they had not obeyed Nastasen. The rope that had held me fell away. I got to my feet, finding to my chagrin that my knees were a trifle unsteady.

Emerson pushed a pair of spears aside and hurried to me. 'What an anticlimax,' he remarked. 'Here, Peabody, don't faint or anything of that sort. We must continue to keep up appearances.'

'I have no intention of doing anything so absurd,' I assured him

'Then stop mumbling into my collarbone and let go my shirt'

I wiped my eyes on the remains of that garment before I complied. 'Another shin ruined, Emerson! You are so hard on them.'

'That's my Peabody,' said Emerson fondly. 'Come along, my dear - step smartly. Forthright, on your feet, man.'

I had forgotten Reggie, and I expect the Reader will understand why. He too had been freed, but he was still sitting in the chair, staring like a dead fish. The room was almost empty. A shuffle of sandalled feet from the shadows indicated the departure of the last of the spectators. Nastasen had gone, leaving his sword on the floor where he had flung it in a fit of childish pique.

Walking like a somnambulist, Reggie joined us and we started for the exit, surrounded by a decidedly nervous escort. As we passed the little group of prisoners, the young officer flung himself at Emerson's feet. 'We are your men, Father of Curses To death.'

'Not to death, but to life,' retorted Emerson, never at a loss for the mot juste. 'Stand up like men and fight for the right (ma'at).'

'A pity they don't understand English,' I remarked, as we proceeded on our way. 'It lost a bit in the translation.'

Emerson chuckled. 'I resent your criticism, Peabody. I thought it sounded quite well, given my imperfect command of the language.'

'Oh, I meant no criticism, my dear. You understand the language better than I; what was that strange title?'

'I have no idea,' said Emerson placidly. 'Whoever he or she may be, the Heneshem is clearly a power to be reckoned with.'

'It was a woman's voice, Emerson.'

'The Voice was a woman's; the Hand was a man's. Titles, Peabody, don't you think?'

'Good gracious. I hadn't thought of it, but I expect you are right. Emerson - did you see something - someone - in the alcove?'

'The Hand of the Heneshem emerged from it.'

'And the voice was there too. But what I saw - felt - sensed - was something more.'

'Monstrous,' Reggie mumbled. 'Horrible.'

'Ah, so you are with us in spirit as well as in body,' said Emerson, shading his eyes as we came out into an open courtyard. 'Cheer up, man, we aren't dead yet.'

'You were on the brink,' said Reggie. 'And your wife and I were a step behind you.'

'Balderdash,' said Emerson. `I keep telling you, they are saving us for a more impressive ceremony. Here, take my arm, Peabody, these fellows are practically running.' He gave the soldier ahead of him a sharp smack on the back. 'Slow down, curse you [lit. Anubis take you].'

'They are anxious to get us off their hands, I expect,' I said. 'For fear they will fall victim to the magic of the great Father of Curses.'

Emerson grinned. 'Yes. Nastasen's little trick backfired on him this time; our mana is higher than ever.'

'Your mana, my dear,' I said, squeezing his arm.

Strolling now at a more moderate pace, we continued to speculate on the identity and powers of the Heneshem. Emerson insisted it was a man, I insisted it was a woman, but we agreed that his or her authority was probably limited to religious matters. However, in this society the distinction was by no means so clear as in our own. The dispensation of justice (if it could be so called) was primarily a religious function, since the divine pantheon was the final judge. What effect this would have on our own proposed sacrifice we were unable to determinem though we argued the matter for some time.

'Well,' said Emerson at last, 'we can only wait and see. At least we have learned that there is another player in this little game, who seems, for the moment at least, to be disposed in our favour.'

'Hmmm,' I said.

'What is that supposed to mean, Peabody?'

'I think I know why she favours us. You, rather.'

'See here, Peabody -'

'Emerson, just listen and follow my logic. The Hand of the Heneshem uses a spear to execute his victims. Meroitic reliefs depict the queen dispatching prisoners with a spear. There are similar scenes from Egyptian temples showing pharaohs smashing the heads of captives with a huge club. But surely the god-king did not commit this bloody deed himself; we know that priests and officials performed many of the duties that were nominally the responsibility of the monarch. In this case as well, he must have had a deputy who wielded the actual club. It is even more likely that a woman, however muscular and bloodthirsty, would delegate an official - the Hand of Her Majesty - to do the killing.'

'Are you suggesting the unknown power is the queen?' Emerson exclaimed. 'That pleasant plump lady, to whom you presented your needle and thread, ordering the murder of a girl and her infant?'

'One may smile and be a villain, Emerson. One may be pleasingly plump and domestically inclined and still see nothing wrong with murdering babies. And a pleasingly plump, youngish widow may be favourably disposed towards a man of whose physical and moral endowments she has just beheld such an impressive display.'

Emerson blushed. 'Balderdash,' he mumbled.

'Hmmm,' I said again.

In deference to Emerson's modesty, I had understated the case. Any female who had watched him in action that day must have fallen instantly in love with him. I myself had been deeply moved. The sight of my husband's splendid muscular develop-ment was familiar to me, but to see it displayed in circumstances of struggle and violence, in the defence of the helpless, had an extremely powerful effect on me. I will not pretend my appre-ciation was entirely aesthetic. There was another element involved, and this was now increasing in intensity. The phrase 'fever pitch' may not be entirely inappropriate.

'You are trembling, my dear,' said Emerson solicitously. 'Delayed shock, I expect. Lean on me.'

'It is not shock,' I said.

'Ah,' said Emerson. He poked the soldier ahead of him. 'You creep like a snail. Go faster.'

It was with visible relief that our guard handed us over to the soldiers on duty at the entrance to our quarters. Pressing my arm close to his side, Emerson paused only long enough to make sure Reggie was not following before he led me towards my sleeping chamber.

The sight we beheld was dreadful enough to make us forget the purpose for which we had come. I had assumed Amenit would go about her business and that my business with her could be delayed for a few minutes - or longer, as the case might prove. But she was still there, huddled on a mat by my bed. At the sight of her face Emerson let out a cry of horror.

'Good Gad, Peabody! What have you done?'

Her skin was not only blistered and peeling, it was green -the nasty livid shade of a decomposing corpse. It looked particularly gruesome next to her purple hair.

I own I was a trifle taken aback. The substance I had applied was only lye soap, softened and made into a paste. She must have had a particular sensitivity to it. Nor had I really expected the herbs would produce such a pronounced shade of green.

Her expression, as she glowered at me, did nothing to improve her appearance. 'You set my skin afire, you [several epithets whose precise meaning was obscure but whose general intent was plain]. I will kill you! I will tear your tongue from your mouth, your hair from your head, your -' She broke off with a yelp of agony and doubled up, clutching her stomach.

Emerson swallowed. 'Not - not the arsenic, Peabody?'

'No, of course not. She does appear to be in some digestive distress, though. The soap could not... Oh, good Gad!' I had seen the bowl on the floor beside Amenit's writhing form. It was the one in which I had steeped the castor beans - and it was empty.

I dropped to my knees beside the girl and took her by the shoulders. 'Amenit! Did you drink this potion? Answer me at once!'

The cramp had subsided; she lay limp and sweating in my grasp. 'Yes, I drank it. It was powerful magic, you said many spells over it. Ooooh! Now I am ugly, and I die... but first I will kill you!'

I struck her hand aside. 'Stupid girl! You took too much. That is why your face has swelled and broken. The gods have punished you for stealing my magic potion.'

'What was in the stuff?' Emerson asked anxiously. 'Really, Peabody, if it was dangerous you shouldn't have left it lying about.'

This from a man who had just driven a spear through a living body, on behalf of a woman who had betrayed her brother to torture and death and who was probably capable of doing the same to us. Sometimes I do not understand the male sex.

'She has rid herself of most of it,' I said, with a look of disgust at the mess on the floor. 'I don't think she is in danger of dying. To be on the safe side, I will give her a stiff dose of ipecacuanha. Hold her head, Emerson - but first get that bowl.'

Amenit let out a piercing shriek. I thought another cramp had gripped her until I saw Reggie in the doorway. 'Don't let him see!' Amenit howled, rolling herself into a ball. 'Tell him to go away.'

'What is wrone?' Reggie asked 'I heard screams - '

'She has drunk some - some beauty preparation of mine,' I replied. 'It was not meant to be taken internally.'

When the litter I had requested finally arrived, it was accompanied by one of the swaddled maidens. I hoped she had come to attend her stricken sister, but her examination was cursory in the extreme, and after directing the litter bearers to carry Amenit away, she remained, taking over the duties the latter had performed. While she was supervising the servants in cleaning my sleeping chamber, I drew Emerson aside.

'It is not Mentarit!'

'How can you tell?'

'I have my methods. Oh, dear, this is most distressing. Dare I ask about Mentarit, do you think?'

'I don't see that it can do any harm,' Emerson replied. 'Certainly not to us, and if Mentarit is already under suspicion a casual inquiry cannot worsen her situation. See here, Peabody, you didn't leave any other noxious substances lying around, did you? We don't want another of the girls to be taken ill.'

'Speak for yourself, Emerson. If I knew for certain this young woman was not one of the few damsels loyal to Nefret, I would pour every noxious substance I possessed into her and feel not a single qualm. As for Amenit, you can spare her your concern. Her pulse was strong and steady, and her alimentary distress was subsiding. Naturally I cleared away the incriminating evidence while we were waiting for the litter, but I had better supervise the supervisor, to make certain she doesn't pry into my belongings.'

I found Reggie in my room, looking curiously at the bowls and jars set out on the chest I used as a toilet table. 'What was it she took, Mrs Amelia? I had no idea you sweet innocent ladies used such dangerous substances.'

'Any substance is dangerous if taken in excessive quantities or in the wrong way, Reggie.'

Reggie picked up one of the bowls and sniffed it - a futile exercise, for I had carefully rinsed it out. 'She will be all right, won't she? I never saw such a face in my life!'

'It was only a rash; it will fade. You seem less concerned with her health than with her appearance, Reggie. I hope your promises to her were sincere. I would not like to think you a vile deceiver of women, like so many of your sex.'

Reggie put the bowl down and gazed earnestly at me. 'Few men would scruple to take advantage of a woman to win freedom for himself and his friends, or think it wrong to do so. As for me - I love, I worship, I adore that dear girl. Never will I leave her!'

'We had better continue this discussion elsewhere,' I said, with a significant nod at the handmaiden.

'Oh.' Reggie looked startled. 'Do you think she - '

'I think we should leave the girl to get on with her work.'

We retired to the sitting room, finding it unoccupied except by three of the rekkit who were setting up the tables for the evening meal. 'Where is the professor?' Reggie asked.

'I imagine he has gone to inquire of the guards whether there has been any sign of Ramses. I am a little curious myself, so if you will excuse me - '

'I will go with you.' Reggie shook his head. 'I hope the professor is not planning some rash attack on the guards. He is the bravest of men, but if you will permit me to say so -'

'No, I will not,' I replied shortly. 'Professor Emerson is not only the bravest of men, he is one of the most intelligent. No doubt your weaker wits are unable to follow the shrewd reasoning that guides his every action. I will brook no criticism of my husband, Mr Forthright - especially from you.'

To my surprise Reggie responded to my sally with a smile and a soft clap of his hands. 'Bravo, Mrs Amelia! It does my heart good to see such wifely devotion. Your poor opinion of my courage is understandable, after my failure to join you and Ramses and the professor in freeing Prince Tarek; but allow me to say a word in my own defence.'

'That is only fair,' I allowed.

'You have a gentle, womanly heart, Mrs Amelia; it is natural you should sympathise with Tarek, who wormed his way into your confidence when you were at Napata. No doubt he has assured you of his support and friendship. I take a more logical view of the case. I don't give a tinker's - er - curse which of these two savages rules this godforsaken spot, and I wouldn't trust either of them if he swore by every god in their endless pantheon. I beg you, ma'am, not to risk your life for Tarek. Think of yourself, your husband, your little son.'

'I am thinking of them,' I said, wondering how any man could be so obtuse. 'Come, if you are coming; stay if you prefer."

He followed me, of course. 'Poor little boy,' he exclaimed. 'How frightened he must be, lost in that horrible place. But don't give up hope, Mrs Amelia. We will find him yet.'

'How do you propose to accomplish that?' I asked curiously.

'Amenit knows every foot of those passages.'

'But Amenit is not here, and the guards are.'

'It is unfortunate that she should be taken ill,' Reggie agreed. 'But you say she will recover, and when she returns we will carry out the plan she and I had discussed.'

'Which is?'

'I will explain later,' Reggie said. 'When the professor has joined us. We are almost there... Good heavens! What are they doing?'

He might well ask. Emerson and the two soldiers squatted close together, their backs to us, their attention focused on something on the floor in front of them. An odd rattling sound was heard, and then Emerson's voice exclaiming in Meroitic, 'Seven! It is mine!'

One of the guards made a profane reference to Bes, the god of jocular pursuits. 'Emerson!' I said severely. 'Are you corrupting these innocent savages by teaching them how to gamble?'

Emerson glanced at me over his shoulder. 'I didn't have to teach them, Peabody. I simply introduced them to a new game. I have already won two strings of beads and a knife.' Gathering up his winnings and the dice, he rose lithely to his feet. 'Farewell, my brothers; I go now.'

'At least leave us the magic cubes,' grumbled one of the guards - the one whose scabbard was empty.

Emerson grinned and slapped him on the back with a remark I did not understand. Both the men laughed, so I concluded it was as well I did not.

'Improving your colloquial command of the language, I presume,' I said, as Emerson escorted me out of the chamber.

'Among other things,' said Emerson, pocketing the dice.

'What of the boy?' Reggie asked. 'It is too bad of you, Professor, to prolong your wife's anxiety.'

'She knows I would have informed her at once if there had been any news, you blithering idiot,' said Emerson. 'Ramses has not manifested himself by sight or sound. It has only been a few hours, Peabody.'

'I know. Reggie has a plan,' I added.

'I can hardly wait to hear it,' said Emerson in the same tone.

Hear it we did, in the cool of the evening, as twilight spread her violet veils across the garden and the languorous lily fragrance died upon the air. A tawny form lay stretched upon the tiles when we entered; seeing us, it spat and growled and leapt like a streak of softest gold upon the wall and over.

'Ramses's cat,' I said. 'Is it angry with us because we have lost him, do you think?'

'Don't be fanciful, Peabody,' said Emerson in the gruff voice he uses when he is trying to hide a softer emotion.

'Do you want to hear my plan or not?' Reggie demanded.

'May as well,' said Emerson. 'Have a seat, Peabody.'

Seated upon a carved bench with the scent of the lotuses perfuming the air and the sleepy chirp of birds as background, we listened to Reggie. His plan had some merit - or would have done, had we not known a few things he did not.

As soon as Amenit had arranged for camels, supplies, and guides, we would, that same night, drug or distract the guards and descend into the subterranean maze in search of Ramses. Reggie was convinced the lad would come out of hiding when he heard me and his father assure him it was safe to do so. When we had found him we would all proceed by secret ways Amenit knew to the tunnel leading to the outside world and the waiting caravan.

'Not bad,' said Emerson judicially, after Reggie had finished. 'I see a few potential stumbling blocks, however. Suppose we fail to find the boy? Mrs Emerson and I would never leave here without him.'

'I tell you, Amenit knows every inch of the way. She will find him, even if he is unconscious or - or - '

'I suppose if he were - 'or' - we would have no reason to remain,' mused Emerson, stamping heavily on my foot to prevent me from expressing my indignation. 'But it sounds a formidable undertaking, Forthright. There must be miles of those passages. How can we search them all in a single night? Less, in fact, for unless we are far away from here by daybreak, we have no hope of avoiding recapture. We will certainly be pursued - '

'Why should we be?'

'Oh, good Gad,' Emerson muttered. 'What have I done to be afflicted with idiots? Because, Mr Forthright, the age-old laws of the Holy Mountain forbid people from leaving. You told us that yourself.'

'We have already been condemned to death,' Reggie said angrily. 'We could be no worse off.'

'You are missing the point, Reggie,' I said. 'Which is, that we cannot expect to complete the search and get well away in a single night. If we are lucky we will find Ramses right away, but luck, my young friend, is not a commodity on which successful plotters count.'

Reggie considered this, his expression both sulky and bewildered. Finally his face cleared. 'I see. Yes, I understand. Then we must find the lad first - is that what you are saying?'

I nodded. Reggie nodded. Emerson snorted. 'Fair enough,' Reggie went on. 'It is a pity Amenit is ill; we could have begun searching tonight. I will have to consult with her.'

'Naturally,' said Emerson. 'Now I believe we are being called to dinner; I suggest you refrain from continuing this discussion in front of the others.'

The prohibition was sensible, but it put a damper on conversation. Reggie brooded over his food and spoke hardly a word. Having finished, he jumped up and left the room with a mumbled apology.

'Alone at last,' said Emerson whimsically.

'Except for...' I indicated the veiled form of the handmaiden, and the servants.

'They don't annoy me as much as Forthright. He is trying my nerves outrageously, Peabody. I wish he would go away.'

He got his wish, and in a way I daresay not even he had expected. Reggie returned only too soon, and we passed the next hour or so in dismal silence. Reggie paced the floor, Emerson smoked furiously, the servants stood around trying not to look directly at us, and I... I tried to think, to plan, but my thoughts kept returning to Ramses. Reggie might be correct in assuming that he had remained close to the stairs and would respond to my call, but it seemed equally likely to me that he had gone off on some harebrained search for another exit. He might be hopelessly lost; he might have blundered into the hands of the priests; he might have tumbled into a pit or been bitten by a bat or eaten by a lion or... The possibilities were endless, and all were horrid.

The ominous sound of approaching men broke into my dark imaginings. 'Not again!' exclaimed Emerson, putting his pipe aside. 'This is too much. I shall complain to the management.'

But this time we were not wanted. The soldiers had come for Reggie. He accepted his destiny with calm fortitude, remarking only, 'I hope this means that they have found the lad and will bring him back to you, ma'am. Pray for me.'

'Oh, she will,' said Emerson. 'Come along, Peabody, let us see him to the door.'

The guards made no objection to our following them. 'Go back,' Reggie called. 'Don't risk yourselves, you cannot prevent them from taking me.'

'Touching concern,' remarked Emerson, strolling along with his hands in his pockets.

I knew his real intent and I was as curious as he to see how far we could go before we were stopped. We had actually passed through the great doors and stepped onto the terrace before the officer summoned up courage enough to order us to halt. Even then he did not touch Emerson or point his weapon, only held it in front of him like a barrier.

Night had fallen. The air had cleared, and a million sparks of diamond light brightened the dark canopy of the sky. Emerson turned aside and went to the edge of the terrace. 'Look there, Peabody,' he said, pointing. 'Something is going on in the village.'

Indeed, the area was alive with moving lights - not reflections of the pure brilliance of the stars, but ruddier, smokier, and more ominous. 'Torches,' Emerson said. 'They are searching the place.'

'For Ramses?'

'Tarek, rather. They must be getting desperate. He wouldn't go to ground there.'

'I hope they won't burn the huts,' I said uneasily. 'Or hurt anyone. Do you think your performance today could have prompted this ?'

'I would certainly like to think my performance, and other actions of ours, have stirred up trouble for Nastasen. Look at that poor devil of a guard trying to wave his spear and make magical protective gestures at the same time. He'll trip over the cursed thing if he isn't careful. We may as well go in.'

With a last glance at Reggie and his escort, who were de-scending the staircase, we returned to our quarters. 'Now he's out of the way, we can go about our business,' said Emerson briskly. 'Have you any trinkets you can spare, Peabody? I think it's time for my luck to turn.'

We had to search Ramses's little bag to find something enticing, for I had of course abandoned most of my luggage and I was loath to give up any of my accoutrements. I was astonished at some of the odd things Ramses had clung to, even in the face of death in the desert. A few marbles, a broken bit of chalk, a mummified mouse (his greatest achievement in his study of that art), the stubs of two pencils, a moustache (bright red in colour), a set of false teeth (very large and very yellow), and several pieces of India rubber were among them; I forget the rest. Several items I had expected to find were missing, including Ramses's battered notebook and the spool of thread he had lent me. I could only speculate on what other bizarre objects he had taken with him, but I found their absence reassuring, particularly that of the notebook. Ramses never went anywhere without it. If he had had time enough and wits enough to collect such impedimenta before he was forced to take flight, his situation might not be as desperate as I had feared.

Taking the false teeth, the moustache (which proved, he later informed me, a great hit), the marbles, and the pencil stubs, Emerson went whistling off, leaving me to my task of winnowing information from Amenit's replacement.

I decided a long, soothing bath would be just the thing. Women are more inclined to wax confidential during the ritual of the toilette, and I felt I deserved some pampering after the varied excitements of the day. The effect was certainly soothing, the women carried out their duties punctiliously; but it brought home to me more clearly than words how our position had changed. Formerly the women had chatted freely, trying their phrases of broken English and giggling over my attempts at their language. Now, though my command of Meroitic was much more fluent, they responded with 'yes' and 'no' or not at all. It was obviously impossible to attain confidentiality when they were all together; so after my bath I dismissed the rest and requested the assistance of the handmaiden in preparing for bed.

She might as well have been dumb as a post. I could not persuade her to unveil; my fascinating little bottles and jars of lotion interested her not at all. She did tell me her name was Maleneqen, and after insistent questioning about Mentarit she unbent so far as to ask why I wanted to know. I explained that Mentarit had been kind and amiable - that her nursing had saved my life. 'We English are grateful to those who help us,' I went on. 'We return kindness with kindness, not good with evil deeds.'

There was no visible or audible response to this sententious speech, and very little to my further efforts. When a cheery whistle heralded the approach of Emerson I was glad to dismiss the girl and seek my couch.

Emerson was not long in joining me, but he had quite an argument with Maleneqen before she consented to leave us alone. (She did not consent, in fact; she left the room under Emerson's arm, kicking and squealing. But she did not come back.)

'Cursed female,' growled Emerson, climbing into bed. 'They get progressively more inconvenient. Were you able to learn anything about Mentarit?'

'You first, Emerson.'

'Of course, my dear.' He drew me close and kissed me gently. 'I regret I have nothing to report. I persuaded my fellow gamesters to let me open the trapdoor by telling them the simple truth - that I hoped to find some sign that Ramses had come back. There was nothing, Peabody. I managed to leave a note for him, though.'

'I fear it is too late, Emerson. I fear he has gone - into the darkness, lost forever...'

'Now, now, my love. Ramses has got himself out of worse spots than this - and so have we. We'll have a look for him ourselves, tomorrow night.'

'Oh, Emerson, is it possible? Have you won the confidence of the guards to that extent?'

To the extent, at least, of persuading them to join me in a friendly cup of beer. I took a jar along this evening. It was harmless, but tomorrow's jar will not be - if you still have your supply of laudanum. Now then, did you discover anything of interest from that surly young woman?'

'Her name is Maleneqen, and I had the devil of a time getting that much out of her. She must be one of Nastasen's allies, Emerson, I gave her every opportunity to confide in me. All she would say about Mentarit is that she has gone.'

'Gone? where?'

'I don't know. That was the word she used, and she refused to elaborate. And then - this, I believe, you will find interesting - she said... good heavens!'

That was not what Maleneqen had said and Emerson knew it, for he had felt the same phenomenon that had prompted my exclamation - movement, sly and slinking, across the foot of the bed. Emerson tried to free himself of the bedclothes and only succeeded in entangling both of us. The thing, whatever it was, turned and glided towards the head of the bed. It made absolutely no sound. Only the pull of the linen fabric and the sense of something moving betokened its slow, inexorable approach. With a sudden bound it was upon me, muffling my breath, filling my mouth and nose with...

Fur. Purring hoarsely, the creature fitted itself into the narrow space between us in the fluidly pervasive manner cats have in such situations.

The soft sound that emerged from Emerson might have been a chuckle, but I am inclined to believe it was a short burst of stifled profanity. I myself was strangely moved; once I had got my breath back, I whispered, 'I would not want you to think me superstitious, Emerson, but I cannot help feeling there is some strange, occult significance in this visitation. After fleeing from us before, the cat now exhibits an uncharacteristic affection, almost as if it were a manifestation, in some sense I dare not contemplate, of - of - '

'Cursed if I don't think you are right, Peabody,' Emerson breathed. 'Didn't you tell me the cat wears a collar?'

That brilliantly incisive question dispelled the clouds of superstition. As one man, so to speak, we fell upon the cat, but with the circumspection Bastet had taught us to exhibit towards felines. While I stroked the cat and complimented it, Emerson managed to undo the collar, and almost at once let out a muffled cry.

'Are you missing any hairpins, Peabody?'

'That is an impossible question to answer, Emerson. One is always missing hairpins. Have you found one?'

'I just pricked my finger on it. It has been used to fasten a bit of paper to the collar. Here, hold on' - to the cat, he meant; it had indicated its intentions of leaving - 'I had better put the collar back on.'

The cat submitted with relative grace; after it had slid away I sucked my scratched finger and asked, 'Is it a message? Who is it from? What does it say?'

'It is paper, not the local imitation,' Emerson replied. 'That is in itself suggestive, but further than that I cannot say without reading it. Dare we light a lamp?'

'We must take the chance,' I whispered. 'Suspense weighs heavily upon me. Wait, I will get a match.'

Emerson did not wait, he followed me while I located my belt, the tin box, the matches within, and one of the small pottery lamps. In the wavering light, heads together, we read the words on the paper.

'Tutus sum, liber sum, et dies ultionis meae est propinqua.Nolite timere pro filio vestro fortimissimo et astutissimo. Cum summa peritia et audacia ille viam suam ad me invenit. Conviemus in templo in die adventus dei. Usque ad illud tempus manete; facile nihil.'

'Thank heaven,' whispered Emerson. 'Our son is safe. The handwriting is his. He must have written this at Tarek's dictation.'

'Certain of the expressions strongly suggest that Ramses not only wrote it but composed it,' I replied. '"Astutissimo," indeed. I suppose he used Latin to prevent the message from being understood if it were intercepted.'

(For the benefit of those few among my Readers whose command of the language of the Caesars is weak, I append a translation; 'I am safe, I am free, and the day of my vengeance is near. Fear not for your very brave, very clever son. With consummate skill and daring he found his way to me. We will meet in the temple on the day of the coming forth of the god. Till then, wait; do nothing.')

Emerson blew out the lamp. 'Back to bed, Peabody. We have much to discuss.'

'I have an uneasy feeling that we are being watched, Emerson.'

'That is almost a certainty, my dear. I am glad we took the risk, though; I can sleep more soundly knowing that Ramses is with our friend. It will be hard to wait, though. We must find out when the ceremony is to take place.'

'That is what I was about to tell you, Emerson, when the cat arrived. The ceremony is in two days' time - the day after tomorrow.'

The message opened endless avenues of speculation. How had Ramses managed to find his way to Tarek? Where were they now? What precisely were the prince's plans? He sounded very confident that matters would work out to his advantage, but we agreed we would feel easier if we knew what he intended. Emerson expressed some indignation over Tarek's (or Ramses's?) order to refrain from action. 'There is a decided suggestion of criticism there, Peabody, don't you think? As if we had done too much already. And how does he expect us to sit twiddling our thumbs for two cursed days? It is not humanly possible. What if his plans go awry?'

They were legitimate questions, but unfortunately I could no more think of sensible answers than could Emerson.

The following day stands out in my mind as unquestionably the most unpleasant of the entire adventure. Dying of thirst is not an activity in which I would care to engage again; anticipating the violent death of Emerson was extremely painful; the anguish of believing that Ramses had vanished forever into the rocky bowels of the cliffs tried my nerves severely. But on the whole, activity of any kind is preferable to waiting, especially when one has some reason to believe that waiting may end in a sticky death.

We made what preparations we could. I made certain my little revolver was loaded and my knife readily accessible, and prepared myself for the physical exertion that might be necessary by exercising my limbs vigorously. This procedure had an unexpected advantage, for as soon as I began jumping, skipping, and swinging my arms, the attendants incontinently fled. I suppose they mistook my actions for magical gestures.

Finding ourselves alone, Emerson and I made the best possible use of our time. Indeed, our enjoyment of one another's company was the only thing that made that long day endurable. The cat did not come back, though I stood by the garden wall for some time calling it. There was no word from Reggie or from Amenit. No one came to threaten or reassure us.

Fortunately we were not called upon to endure another such day. It was mid-morning when they came for us, and as the curtain was thrust aside Emerson heaved a mighty sigh of relief. 'As I hoped and expected. High noon is the time.'

We were forced to sit around for an hour or more, since we flatly refused to go through any ceremonies of purification or put on the handsome robes that had been supplied. 'If we go down, we will go down fighting, and attired like an English lady and gentleman,' I decreed.

Emerson looked me over from head to foot, his lips twitching. 'A proper English lady would faint dead away seeing you attired like that, Peabody.'

Alas, he was correct. I had done the best I could to press and brush our travel-stained garments, but I could not mend the rents or sew on missing buttons. I had searched in vain for the grubby spool of thread Ramses had lent me. It required no great stretch of the imagination to understand why he had taken it with him, but it was deuced inconvenient. Emerson's shirt was beyond repair; he was wearing one of the locally produced substitutes and I must admit it was unexpectedly becoming to him, especially since it had been made for a much slighter individual.

'I hate to think what a proper English lady would do on seeing you, Emerson,' I riposted with a smile. 'Are you sure you don't want to borrow my knife?'

'No, thank you, my dear.' Absently Emerson flexed his arms. One of the attendants, who had timidly advanced towards him waving a pleated kilt like a parlormaid shaking a rug, jumped back with a squeak.

'Your costume requires something, though,' I said, frowning. 'Why don't you put on that beaded collar? And some of the bracelets.'

'I will be cursed - ' Emerson began loudly.

'Some of the beautiful heavy gold bracelets,' I said.

'Oh,' said Emerson. 'Excellent idea, Peabody.'

Once this had been done - and the effect, let me add, was very fine - we were ready. However, our escort was not. I don't know how they knew the time, having no clocks or watches, but apparently we were early. A debate ensued; it ended with the decision that it would be better to be too early than too late.

'Have we everything, Peabody?' Emerson asked, knocking out his pipe and putting it carefully in his trouser pocket.

'I think so. Notebooks' - I felt the front of my blouse - 'my belt and accoutrements, my weapons, your pipe and tobacco... I am ready.'

As the guards closed around us I cast one final look at the room where we had spent so many painful and yet fascinating hours. Whatever ensued, it seemed unlikely that we would return. We had decided that Tarek probably intended to wage an attack upon his brother's forces during the ceremony. We would of course support our friend to the uttermost; but if he went down and his cause with him, we would make a break for it. The details of that action were necessarily vague, for they depended on too many unknown factors, the most important of which was whether Ramses and Nefret would be present. If we could scoop them up and take them along, we would try to get over or through the cliffs, steal camels and supplies, and ride hell-for-leather (if the Reader will excuse the vulgarity) for the Nile. Otherwise we would have to hide in the tunnels until we found both children, for as Emerson had said, we would as soon have abandoned Ramses as the golden-haired maiden whose courage and beauty had won both our hearts.

The weather was certainly propitious. The sun beamed down from a cloudless sky; not a breath of wind or haze of sand broke the still, clear air. As we marched along, hand in hand, closely surrounded by a heavy guard, Emerson began to whistle and my spirits soared. We were about to go into action, and when the Emersons act in concert, few can stand against them. Something was bound to turn up.

I do not know whether I have made the plan of the Great Temple clear to the Reader, who may not be as familiar as we were with the design of such structures. It was in essence very like its ancient Egyptian models. The progression was from light to darkness, from openness to mystery. Passing through the great entrance pylons, the visitor entered an open court with surrounding colonnades. Through deepening shadows the worshipper proceeded from hall to chamber to passageway until he reached the holy of holies, the sanctuary in which dwelt the god himself. This was the simple, basic plan; over the years, in Egypt as here, additional halls and pylons and chambers had been added wherever space allowed. Like the temple of Abu Simbel, this one was for the most part carved out of the cliffs themselves, and because the area of the city itself was so limited, the rock-cut chambers had greatly increased in number and in function.

I suspected that there were chambers even more secret and sacred beyond the ones we had seen, for the ultimate mysteries of the god could not be observed by common worshippers, only by priests and priestesses assigned to his service. Since this was a public ceremony, I expected it would take place in the outer courtyard, and so it proved. The hypostyle hall was filled with people. They were packed like sardines into the colonnades on either side and spilled out into the open space in the centre. Files of armed guards kept a passage free; down this we marched towards the pillared colonnade opposite the gateway. This area was reserved for the elite and their attendants - priests of the highest rank, with shaven heads and pure white robes; nobles of both sexes, glittering with gold and jewels; musicians holding harps and pipes and drums; and our unworthy selves. We took the seats indicated to us and surveyed the scene with, I hardly need say, considerable interest.

'I wonder if I might smoke,' said Emerson.

'It would be rude, my dear. After all, this is a religious edifice - of a sort.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson. Like mine, his eyes were fixed upon the object that dominated the space before the arcade - a massive block of stone whose carvings were almost obliterated by time and by the ugly stains that formed grotesque patterns on its top and down its sides. It seemed to me that a dark cloud hung over it, as if the bright sunlight shuddered away from its surface. Human sacrifice had not been practised in ancient Egypt; the blood that stained the altars had been that of poor terrified cattle or geese. But here... Well, no doubt we would soon find out.

Turning to more seemly sights, my eyes moved across the gaily dressed group of nobles. There were children among them - girls with gold rings woven into their dark hair, little boys whose single braids shone lustrous as a raven's wing in the sunlight. One looked so much like Ramses that my heart skipped a beat. Then he turned to stare at me and the resemblance was gone.

It had been foolish of me to think he might be here. Tarek would not allow so young a lad to risk himself in battle. I wondered where Tarek's men were assembling. Nastasen's soldiers were everywhere, surrounding the spectators and mingling with them; the flash of spear points dazzled the eyes. He too must expect an attack in force. It appeared to me that the odds were with him, not only in numbers but in the strength of his position. It would be hard to break through that narrow opening, well guarded as it was.

The pick of Nastasen's men, tall, muscular fellows in the prime of life, surrounded the throne-chair and the strange little kiosk behind it. It was made of woven reeds, picked out with gold and heavily curtained. In shape it resembled those I had seen in Egyptian reliefs, with a sloping roof and cornice. I poked Emerson, who was morosely scanning the ranks of the spectators. 'Is she there, do you think?'

'Who? Where? Oh, there. Hmmm. It is quite possible. At this moment I am more interested in where Ramses might be.'

I explained my reasoning on that subject. 'No doubt,' Emerson said irritably. 'I wish they would get on with it, though. We will probably have to sit through most of the cursed ceremony; if Tarek is any sort of strategist, he will wait until the climax, when the attention of the audience is distracted.'

A surge of the crowd and a rising murmur of interest indicated that something was happening. Situated as we were, we could not see the entrance, so it was not until the new arrival was face-to-face with us that we recognised Reggie. Even then I had to take a second look. He was dressed like a nobleman, even to the wig of coarse dark hair that covered his fiery locks.

The Reader may have noted that in our plans for escape we had not considered Reggie. This was not as callous as it might seem. However the day went for Tarek, Reggie had a greater chance of survival than the rest of us. If Amenit could not save him, it was unlikely that we could do better. Should we succeed in getting away, we could and would mount another expedition; but the welfare of the children, Ramses and Nefret, had to take precedence.

Happily unaware of this somewhat cold-blooded assessment, Reggie greeted us with a brave smile. 'So here we are, at the end. At least we will die together.'

'I have no intention of dying,' said Emerson with a snap of his teeth. 'You look ridiculous, Forthright. Why did you let them stuff you into those clothes?'

'What does it matter?' Reggie sighed. 'The only thing that concerns me is the fate of that poor little boy. Even if he still lives, how can he survive without his parents?'

'I prefer not to discuss the subject,' said Emerson. 'Ah - I believe the performance is about to begin.'

Nastasen emerged from the entrance to the inner court. He was dressed like a simple priest, except for his long black hair. Following came a small group of high officials, including the two high priests, more guards - and another individual whose appearance made me wonder whether the events of two days past had been only a horrible nightmare. He looked exactly like the Hand of the Heneshem whom Emerson had dispatched - the same squat, heavily muscled body, the same coarse face, the same shining spear and scanty loincloth.

'Curse it!' said Emerson, sitting upright. 'I thought I had killed the b---d.'

'Language, Emerson, please. It is not - cannot be - the same man.'

'Must be his brother, then,' muttered Emerson. And indeed, the hideous leer the new Hand bent upon my husband suggested an anticipatory pleasure stronger than simple pride in one's professional skill.

Welcomed with music and dancing, the rattle of sistra and the cries of the worshippers, the god came forth.

Emerson leaned forwards, his eyes shining. 'Good Gad, Peabody, look at that. It is the bark of the god - the ship shown in the ancient reliefs. Have ever scholars had such an opportunity as we?'

Readers who are interested in the meaning of ships in ancient Egyptian religious ceremonies should refer to Emerson's article in the Journal of Egyptian Archaeology. Here I will say no more than that the object in question was a model of the sacred barks upon which the god sailed to visit various shrines. At the curved prow and stern were carved heads of the god - Amon-Re, wearing the horned crown and the disk. Long poles carried the insignia sacred to Amon, and in the centre of the ship was a shrine or tabernacle of light wood hung all around with curtains. Model though it was, it required twenty-five or thirty bearers to carry it.

Normally hidden from the eyes of the vulgar, the god was on full display now; the curtains had been pulled back. It was a most curious statue, unlike any I had ever seen, and it must have been of immemorial antiquity. Approximately four feet in height, it was carved of painted, gilded wood. The arms were crossed upon the breast, the hands held the twin sceptres. A garment of fine linen covered the naked limbs; a collar six inches wide adorned the broad breast.

Emerson's fingers twitched. He was aching to take notes. To see such a ceremony, often described  but never depicted in detail, was like travelling back in time. Almost I forgot the dread purpose of this ceremony and its hideous culmination.

Bowed under the weight of the gilded structure, the carriers proceeded slowly down the aisle towards the temple gates. Roughly the guards pushed back the spectators, who seethed like a nest of ants. They cried out in appeal and adoration; they held children high in their arms, thrusting them forwards over the heads of those in the front rank so their tiny hands might touch the sacred vehicle; they struggled and pushed for favourable positions. For the first time I realised fully the power of superstition, and knew that the religion I had studied with scholarly detachment had been, and was, a living, breathing force. These people believed. They would accept the decision of the god and defend his chosen one.

Partway down the aisle the carriers stopped, and a man stepped out of the ranks of the spectators, the guards parting to let him through. I could not hear what he said, for the cries of the crowd drowned him out, but I assumed it was an appeal or a question - and that the guards, and the bearers, had been well-bribed not only to let him address the god but to ensure the correct answer. I rose to my feet and stood on tiptoe, trying to see how the god would reply; unfortunately 'his' back was to me and the people in front were milling about. All I saw was the recoil of the questioner, who staggered back with his hands to his head. A gasp of wonder rose from the crowd. After a moment the ship moved on.

The same thing happened twice more. I saw even less on these occasions. Then the ship reached the gate, turned, and started on its return trip. It came more quickly now and did not stop. The crowd noise died into a breathless silence, and the melodious basso of the high priest boomed out. 'O Aminreh, king of the gods - the pharaoh awaits you. Give him your blessing, O Aminreh, that the land may live and flourish with His Majesty.'

Nastasen stepped forwards, smirking. Where was Tarek? This was the moment, when every eye was bent upon the bark and the god, when even breath had stopped in anticipation. I could not take my eyes off the grotesque wooden statue. The painted face stared straight ahead. The hollow eye sockets... They were hollow, not painted or filled with crystal. But they were not empty. Something glimmered within them. I noted that the arms of the god were not carved in one piece with the rest of the body, but were separate pieces of wood - and at that moment, when the ship had almost reached the spot where Nastasen stood awaiting it, the god's arm moved. The heavy wooden flail came down on the shoulder of the nearest bearer. He let out a cry and stumbled, losing his grip on the pole and falling forwards against the man ahead of him. The whole structure swayed to a stop as the other bearers struggled to retain their footing and their grip. The god's arm lifted - not the same arm, the other, the one that held the crook. It came gently to rest upon the head of a man who had suddenly appeared beside the shrine, emerging from the ranks of the spectators. The white robes were those of a minor priest. The face was Tarek's.

Into the stunned silence a voice rose like a brazen trumpet's blast. 'The god has spoken! Behold your king, people of the Holy Mountain!

'Sleep, Servant of God'

I recognised the voice - so Murtek was Tarek's man after all! His timing had been perfect. As the spectators stood frozen with astonishment, Tarek ripped the formal curled wig from his head and flung off his robes. On his brow shone the twin uraeus serpents, the symbols of kingship; on his breast lay the sacred insignia - scarab and cobra and nekhbet-vulture. Pulling his sword from its scabbard he raised it high, shouting, 'I am the king! Bow down before the chosen of Aminreh, he who brings ma'at to the land, defender of the people!'

Throughout the courtyard other men were stripping off their disguises, drawing their weapons, taking red feathers from hidden folds in their garments and thrusting them into their headbands.

'Bravo!' exclaimed Emerson. 'What a strategist! I couldn't have done better myself!'

It was a masterstroke, and for a moment I thought Tarek would bring it off, winning his crown without violence and civil war. But the red feathers were outnumbered by the leather helmets of Nastasen's guardsmen, and the High Priest of Aminreh was not the man to let power slip through his fingers.

'Treason!' he bellowed. 'Blasphemy! This criminal has no name. He is not the chosen of Aminreh but a traitor condemned to die. Seize him!'

Pandemonium broke out. Nastasen's men sought to carry out the command of the high priest and the rebels sprang to defend their leader. Neither bow and arrow nor the long-shafted spears could be used in such close quarters; it was hand-to-hand fighting with sword and knife. Emerson was stamping with excitement. 'Curse it, Peabody, let go my arm! I need a sword! I need a feather!'

I had to scream to be heard over the battle cries and the clash of weapons. 'Emerson - look!"

Above the heads of the struggling men the bark of the god swayed like a real boat in a stormy sea. One by one the bearers lost their footing and went down under the press of bodies. The ship dipped at the prow and fell with a crash. The brittle, ancient wood snapped into a hundred pieces. The shrine collapsed like a matchstick toy. The statue cracked and broke apart, disgorging, like a butterfly from its chrysalis, a small body that rolled helplessly under the very feet of the combatants. With a mighty roar Emerson plunged into the maelstrom and emerged with Ramses clutched in his arms.

I drew my pistol and fired point-blank at the soldier who was about to bring his blade down on Emerson's head. Emerson leapt to my side and dropped Ramses unceremoniously at my feet. 'Good Gad, Peabody, watch where you're shooting! That cursed bullet came so close it parted my hair.'

'Better than having it parted by a sword,' I replied. Another of the leather helmets was bearing down upon us. I aimed at his arm but I must have missed, for he kept on coming, and I decided I could not, under those circumstances, afford to be discriminating. The second shot dropped him, practically on top of Ramses. Emerson snatched up his fallen sword just in time to parry a vicious cut from another attacker. Others were rushing towards us but several of our guards now displayed the red feather, and they leapt to our defence. I felt I could spare a moment to address my son.

The interior of the statue must not have been cleaned in years. Cobwebs festooned Ramses's hair (what there was of it) and his kilt was filthy. I saw the distinct print of someone's sandal on his stomach, which probably helped to explain his silence. I shook him. 'Are you injured, Ramses?'

'Whoop,' said Ramses, trying to catch his breath.

Pistol at the ready, I turned to see if Emerson was in need of my assistance, and found he was managing nicely. He must have been taking fencing lessons on the sly, for his skill had improved considerably since that never-to-be-forgotten day when he had fought the Master Criminal for my humble self. In fact, I felt sure he could have put an end to his opponent quite handily if he had not been trying to incapacitate rather than kill the man.

One of our defenders fell, splashing my boots with his blood. Another bullet from my trusty little pistol put his killer hors de combat. Hastily I reloaded. The battle was waxing hot. I saw Tarek, his diadem bristling with red feathers, trying to fight his way towards his brother, who had taken refuge behind the throne. A fierce struggle seethed before it, where Nastasen's loyal guardsmen battled to hold off an attacking force of rebels. Even Pesaker had drawn his sword and entered the fray.

But in all that shrieking, clashing, groaning battle, there was one focus of quiet: the curtained kiosk at the back of the colonnade. Before it stood the Hand, leaning on his great spear. No one came near him; it was as if he and the structure he guarded were enclosed by an invisible, impenetrable wall.

The carnage was frightful. Twisted bodies and puddles of spilled blood covered the floor. Who was winning? I could not tell. Many of the valiant on both sides had fallen. It was a tragic, a terrible waste. Sick at heart, I yearned to succour the wounded and comfort the widow and orphan.

I do not know whether it was the same noble aim that inspired Tarek, or the fear that he might be losing. I prefer to believe it was the former. Beating down the last of his immediate attackers, he raised his voice over the sounds of combat. 'Too many brave men have died for you, my brother, while you hide behind the throne you wrongly claimed. Come forth and fight me man-to-man for the prize. Or are you afraid?'

Silence fell, broken only by the moans of the wounded and the panting breaths of the fighters as they lowered their swords and awaited Nastasen's response. On the faces of many I saw the lust of battle replaced by a deadly sickness and horror. This had truly been a fratricidal struggle, friend against friend, brother against brother.

Emerson's blade was crimson to the hilt. I could not truly regret his actions, for the men he had killed had been intent on slaughtering us, but I could and did regret the sad necessity. Not all the blood that stained his garments was that of his opponents. A glancing blow had laid his cheek open to the bone; he would have a nasty scar unless I could stitch it up soon. Of the other wounds that had marked him, the worst seemed to be one on his forearm. It was bleeding heavily. I returned my pistol to the holster and took out the square of linen I used as a handkerchief.

'I seem to have ruined another shirt,' remarked Emerson, as I reached for him. 'Not my fault this time, Peabody.'

'I cannot complain, my dear, when your rents and your wounds were incurred in our defence. Let me tie up your arm.'

'Don't fuss, Peabody. This is not over yet. I want to see what... Ah, here comes Nastasen. He could hardly refuse the challenge, but he looks like a man on the way to visit his dentist, doesn't he?'

The spectators had fallen back, leaving an aisle between Tarek and his brother. Tarek was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but his bearing was kingly and a grim smile touched his lips. The contrast between the two - one marked by the scars of honourable battle, the other in his pristine and delicate robes -brought a murmur from the watchers, and not all came from Tarek's followers. It may have been the realisation that he was losing the loyalty of his men that fired Nastasen's courage; it may have been his brother's visible contempt, or the hope that Tarek was worn and weak from loss of blood. Nastasen un-fastened his jewelled girdle and threw it and his robe aside. 'I have no weapon,' he said. 'Kill me, defenceless and unarmed, if you will - brother.'

Tarek gestured to one of his men. 'Give him your sword.'

Nastasen took it, with an ironic bow towards the giver. He made a few passes, as if testing the balance and weight; then, without warning, he rushed at Tarek. Tarek had no time to parry; only an agile leap to the side saved him.

The spectators closed in, jostling one another for a better look, like men watching some sporting event. It was a disgusting display of the savagery that lies palpitating in the male breast, and it also prevented me from watching the duel. Ramses climbed onto a chair and stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads of the audience. I caught his arm. 'Get down from there this instant, and stay close by me. If I lose you again I will punish you severely. Emerson, will you... Oh, curse it! Where has your father gone?'

'There,' said Ramses, pointing.

Emerson had rushed to join the audience. His head kept bobbing up and down and he was shouting advice which I fear was lost on Tarek. Words like 'feint' and 'lunge' could have meant little to him.

The business went on a great deal longer than I had expected, and I began to grow anxious. The clang of meeting blades and the shouts and groans of the watchers were the only clues I had as to what was going on. I did not doubt Tarek's superior skill and courage but his brother was fresh and unwounded. If Tarek fell, what would happen to us? I hope I will not be considered self-serving if I admit that I began to consider possible courses of action.

Glancing around, I realised that Ramses and I were alone. The guards had gone to watch the fight, and Reggie... When had he left us? Had he joined the strife? He was nowhere to be seen. The mysterious kiosk now appeared to be unoccupied; at any rate, the Hand no longer stood before it.

A great shout went up from the spectators. A mighty blow, perhaps a mortal blow, had been struck - but by whom? Cursing my lack of inches, I scrambled up onto the chair. With that advantage I could see the head of one combatant. Only one was still on his feet. My heart plummeted, for the face was that of Nastasen. And then - ah, then! I saw the gush of blood from his open mouth, saw him stiffen and fall; I saw Tarek rise to his full height after the mighty lunge that had dispatched his enemy. For a moment he stood victorious, streaming with blood, the valiant feathers of his headdress slashed and broken. Then his eyes closed and he fell fainting into the press of arms and bodies.

I jumped off the chair and ran towards him, dragging Ramses by the arm. Other mothers may condemn me; the sight I expected to see was certainly not suitable for the eyes of a young lad. But those mothers have never had to deal with a young lad like Ramses. I was afraid to let him out of my sight for an instant.

With his enthusiastic cooperation and the aid of my trusty parasol I forced a path through the crowd and beat his admirers off the fallen form of our princely friend. As I had hoped, he was not dead; a nip of brandy from the flask at my belt soon brought him around, and the first sight his opening eyes beheld was Ramses, who was bending over him breathing anxiously into his face. 'Ah, my young friend,' he said with a faint smile. 'We have won, and you are a hero. I shall raise a monument to you in the court of the temple - '

'Save your strength,' I said firmly, giving him another sip of brandy. 'If you will have your men carry you to your home, I will come and tend your wounds.'

'Later, Lady - though I thank you. There is much to do be-fore I can rest.' He lifted himself up and stood erect. 'But where is the Father of Curses? I would thank him too, for his words of wisdom and deeds of daring won many to my standard.'

I am ashamed to confess that I quite lost my head once I realised Emerson had vanished. I ran to and fro calling him, turning over fallen bodies, staring into ghastly faces. Litter bearers had already begun carrying the wounded from the court; I barred their path, demanding to see for myself it was not Emerson they carried.

'How could he have disappeared?' I cried, wringing my hands. 'He was here a moment ago, unwounded - not severely wounded - at least I thought he was not... Oh, heavens, what has happened to him?'

Tarek put a bloody but gentle hand on my shoulder. 'Fear not, Lady. We will find him, and if he has been harmed I will kill his abductors with my royal hand.'

'A fine help that will be,' I exclaimed. 'Now do stop shouting, everyone, and be calm. He can't have vanished into thin air. Someone must have seen something! Who could have taken him? For I will never believe he left of his own accord without telling me.'

'Not all my brother's allies were slain,' Tarek said slowly. 'They will revenge themselves on me if they can; they have good reason to hate the Father of Curses.'

'They may have taken Reggie too,' I exclaimed. 'Not that I give a curse about him... Murtek! Where have you been hiding?'

The venerable priest came towards us, stepping fastidiously over fallen bodies and holding his skirts high to avoid the pools of blood that stained the floor. 'Behind the throne,' he said, unabashed. 'I do not fight with swords. Now my prince wins, and I come to praise him. Hail to thee, Mighty Horus, ruler of the -'

'Never mind that. You were in a point of vantage, you must have seen something. What has happened to the Father of Curses?'

Murtek's eyes shifted. He licked his lips. 'I did not - '

'Your face betrays you,' I cried, brandishing my parasol. 'What did you see?'

'Speak,' Tarek ordered sternly. 'You are my friend and my loyal supporter, but if you know aught of the Father of Curses and keep silent, I will not protect you from the Lady Who Rages Like a Lioness When Her Cub Is Threatened.'

Murtek swallowed. 'I saw... I saw the guards of the Heneshem carry a litter into the temple. The form upon the litter was covered, even to its face, like a corpse being carried to the embalmers. The Hand... the Hand went beside it.'

It was the strange title Emerson and I had failed to understand. Why comprehension should have come to me then, with the sudden illumination of a lightning bolt, I do not know, but I expect my mental powers were strengthened by intense anxiety. Over the passage of many centuries the words had become slurred and run together, but they were - they could be nothing other than - the ancient title of the High Priestesses of Amon who ruled in Thebes under the pharaohs of the late dynasties. Had not the great Cushite conqueror Piankhi forced the high priestess of his time to adopt his daughter in order to strengthen his claim to the throne of Egypt?

'Hemet netcher Amon,' I repeated, giving the words their modem, stylised pronunciation. 'How could I have been so blind? It was also a title of the queen - her designation as royal heiress, as I have always believed... Not only her divine dignity but her extreme corpulence would necessitate the appointment of surrogates to perform her mundane functions - the Hand to execute criminals, the Voice to express her commands, the - er - the Concubine, that scantily garbed female who made such explicit gestures to the god's statue... She is the true power behind the throne here, the ultimate authority - the queen, the Candace -'

'No, Lady,' said Tarek. 'No. You do not understand.'

'I understand that she has taken my husband, and that is all that matters. Lead me to her at once, Tarek.'

'You cannot... You must not go there, Lady. If the Heneshem has taken him - '

'Must not, to me?' I thundered. 'How dare you, Tarek? Take me there at once.'

Tarek's broad shoulders sagged. 'I cannot refuse you, Lady.

But remember when you see... what you will see... that I tried to spare you.'

Naturally this ambiguous warning only fired my determination to proceed, though it did arouse certain unpleasant images in my mind. What could I see that would be worse than the slaughter I had beheld that day? The lifeless corpse of my spouse - but if they meant to kill him they could have done so, a stab in the back like the cowards they were, while all were intent upon the titanic struggle of the brothers. A scene of slow, painful torture - but if that was their intent, the more need for haste. The God's Wife clinging to Emerson like a gigantic vampire bat, draining the blood from his living veins... I told myself not to be silly. It was not my husband's blood that dreadful woman wanted.

I am sure I hardly need say that even as these thoughts passed through my mind I was hastening towards the inner precincts, urging Tarek along with my parasol. Ramses trotted beside me; bringing up the rear was old Murtek, his apprehension overcome by the insatiable curiosity that was his strongest characteristic.

As we penetrated deeper and deeper into the bowels of the mountain, through corridors dimly lit by smoking lamps, I could hear rustles of furtive motion; and I thought this must be how a cat would feel if he could creep into the tunnels of mice and moles. They would flee before him as the inhabitants of this sunless maze hid from us - uncertain of their fate, and fearing the worst.

As we walked side by side, Tarek spoke in an urgent whisper. 'You must be far distant from this place, Lady, before tomorrow's sun greets the day. The caravan gathers; it will guide you to the oasis and set you safely on your way. I will not ask for a vow of secrecy from you, for I know your word is stronger than another man's oath; I only ask that you keep our secret until I have had time to prepare my people for the inevitable time when the wolves of the outside world fall upon us. You may take what you will - gold, treasure - '

'I don't want your gold, Tarek, I only want my husband - and the girl for whose sake you have endured so much.'

'Yes, Lady, that was why I brought you here, and although her leaving will extinguish a light that brightens my life, the white does not mate with the - '

'Tarek, don't talk nonsense. You are babbling like a nervous actor. What is wrong with you?'

Tarek stopped. The air of the tunnels was chill and clammy, but his face glistened with perspiration. 'Lady, I beg you. Do not go on. I will - I will go, and bring the Father of Curses back to you.'

My reply was curt and pungent. Tarek looked despairingly from me to Murtek.

'The gods decree this,' said the old hypocrite. 'How can you stop the wind from blowing, or a woman from having her way?'

'Especially this woman,' I said, taking a firmer grip on my parasol. 'Hurry, Tarek.'

Tarek made no further protest. At first his pace was so quick, Ramses had to run to keep up. Gradually it slowed; and as we entered an antechamber, richly furnished with embroidered hangings and cushions, he came to a stop. Lamps burned in alcoves, but there was no one present. Silently Tarek gestured towards the curtains at the far end of the room. Shifting my parasol to my left hand, I drew my pistol and plunged through them.

In this secret and secluded chamber had been gathered the richest treasures of the kingdom. Every surface of every article of furniture was covered with beaten gold and set with gems and enamel. Embroidered hangings hid the stone walls. The vessels on the tables were all of solid gold and heaped with food of every variety. Animal skins covered the floor. In a curtained alcove stood a low couch. Emerson lay there, his eyes closed, his face ruddily lit by a lamp that burned in a niche above. And over him bent the veiled form of a woman.

I had beheld such a scene before, through the eyes of im-agination, but this was a grotesque parody of the original. My husband's ruggedly masculine features bore no resemblance to those of the golden-haired hero of the classic novel, and the shape that hovered over him would have made four of the immortal She. It was as squat and square as a huge toad.

As I stood gaping, Emerson opened his eyes. The most extraordinary grimace of horror and surprise passed over his face, and he promptly fainted again.

My parasol fell from my nerveless hand. Soft as it was, the sound of its fall alerted the creature to my presence. Moving with the ponderous deliberation of a giant slug, she straightened and started to turn.

I heard the rustle of draperies behind me and knew Tarek had entered the room, but I could not take my eyes off the sight before them. I had been wrong; this monstrous thing could not be the queen It must be something indescribably horrible to have caused the bravest of men to lose his senses. The living image of one of the beast-gods of ancient Egypt? The wizened, mummified countenance of a woman thousands of years old?

What I saw was infinitely worse, and in that moment of revelation I understood Emerson's shock and Tarek's warning. The face was only that of a very fat woman, her features dwarfed by ballooning cheeks. But it was white - the pallid dead-white of a stiffening corpse. The hair that streamed over her shoulders almost to the floor was silvery gold; the eyes squinting at me through folds of flesh were the soft blue of cornflowers in an English meadow.

Remote as the sky whose colour they had borrowed, they contemplated me with inhuman detachment. So might a normal woman have viewed a fly that had dared to light on her hand. Through the fog of horror that clouded my mind I seemed to hear Emerson's voice repeating the words he had spoken only a few months earlier, on a rainy evening in England. 'An exquisite creature, looking no more than eighteen; great misty blue eyes, hair like a fall of spun gold, skin white as ivory...'

'Mrs Forth,' I gasped. 'Is it - can it be - you?'

The vast white expanse of her brow rippled. 'I know that name,' she said in strongly accented Meroitic. 'It is the name of one I hate. Go away, woman, and do not speak that name again.'

The truth, the pitiful, painful truth, was clear to me now. She bad died after the birth of her child, in all but body. From such cases come the old legends of demonic possession, when a man or woman unable to endure the pain of existence retreats from reality into a new identity. She was not Mrs Willoughby Forth. She was the God's Wife of Amon. She had forgotten her daughter, her husband, the world from which she had come.

Could I restore her? I could but try. And of course it was unthinkable that I should not make the attempt.

I addressed her in the strongest terms. I assured her that I felt only the tenderest compassion for her (despite her unlicensed attraction to a married man). Moved as I was by intense emotion, I believe I have never risen to greater oratorical heights. Emerson's eyes remained tightly closed, but I knew he had regained consciousness. He had wisely decided to refrain from joining in the conversation.

Her face remained unmoved until I made what, in the light of later developments, I must confess to be an error in judgment. 'We will take you away with us, Mrs Forth. A home awaits you, where you will be tenderly cherished - your husband's father lives only to clasp you again in his arms - '

She let out a shriek. 'Away? From my temple, my servants? You speak when I have told you to be silent. You remain when I have told you to leave me. I would have been merciful, but you try my patience, woman! Kill them! Kill the blasphemers!'

From the shadows at the far end of the room came the Hand, his spear poised and ready, his face set in a hideous smile. Emerson rolled off the couch and bounced to his feet.

'Get out of the line of fire, my dear,' I called, leveling my pistol.

'Oh, good Gad, Peabody - no - don't - '

He made certain I would not by dashing impetuously at the Hand. Light streaked along the blade of the spear as it plunged towards Emerson's breast. With catlike grace he ducked aside and caught hold of the haft of the weapon, just above the blade. Clutching the other end of the haft, the Hand strove to pull it from Emerson's grasp. Back and forth they swayed, matched in strength, the wooden shaft between them like a rope stretched taut by a titanic tug of war.

I pushed Ramses into Tarek's arms. 'Hold on to him,' I ordered, and began to circle around, trying for a clear shot.

Murtek had retreated behind the curtains but no farther; his eyeballs rolled as he watched in fascinated horror. The God's Wife (for so, alas, I must call her) shook so violently, her draperies flapped up and down; she was screaming curses and orders. She reached out a mammoth arm as I edged past her, but her movements were so slow I easily evaded her.

Emerson appeared to be winning the tug-of-war. Fighting every inch of the way, his face twisted with effort and disbelief, the Hand was being pulled slowly towards his mighty opponent. What Emerson meant to do with him when he had got him within arm's reach I did not know, but evidently the Hand feared the worst; suddenly he let go of the spear and reached for the long knife at his belt. Emerson staggered back, recovered, and drove the butt end of the spear into the midsection of his opponent with such force that the Hand flew backwards like a stone shot from a catapult. He hit the wall with a crash and fell to the floor.

'Oh, well struck, Papa,' called Ramses.

'Is he dead?' Tarek asked hopefully.

'I trust not.' Emerson was breathing in great gasps, and the napkin I had tied around his arm was drenched with blood. 'This is becoming tiresome. Peabody, my dear, do me the favour of holstering your pistol before you embrace me.'

I had intended to throw my arms around him, not only because it is a favourite habit of mine, but because he was swaying on his feet. Something held me motionless, however, and that something was the face of the unfortunate woman who called herself the God's Wife of Amon. No longer was it pale as snow. Dark blood suffused it. No longer was she screaming in outrage. A dreadful bubbling, gabbling gurgle issued from her gaping mouth.

She toppled, like a great boulder pushed from the top of a cliff, slowly at first, then with gathering momentum, striking the floor with a hideous, sodden thud.

The magnitude of that fall had about it an air of heroic tragedy that held us all frozen for several seconds. Then Emerson whispered, 'Oh, good Gad. Is she... is she...'

I went through the motions, kneeling by the body and trying to find a pulse, but I had seen death take her even as she stood. Amid the bloated, purple congestion of her face her blue eyes stared emptily into mine. In medical terms her demise could be attributed to the effect of frustrated fury - for since she had assumed her exalted station her will, I suppose, had never been thwarted - upon a body worn out by excessive eating and lack of healthful exercise; but I was inclined to give credit to Another, more Beneficent Source. 'She is gone,' I said solemnly. 'A merciful end, Emerson - all things considered.'

'As always, the Lady speaks well,' said Tarek. 'It is the only possible end to her troubles and ours, for you would have tried to take her away and she would have fought to stay. Now Nefret need never know the truth.'

I drew a fold of her robe across that terrible face. 'You lied to Nefret, Tarek, as you lied to us?'

'It was not a lie, Lady. She went to the god of her own will, denying her former self. Nefret was only an infant. Why should I tell her her mother had turned away from her, after trying twice to kill her?'

'I have heard of such things,' I said sadly. 'There is a sickness that afflicts women sometimes after the birth of a child.'

Murtek squatted beside the great still bulk and began intoning prayers.

'Come away, Lady,' Tarek said. 'You can do no more for her.'

'You have done quite enough already,' said Emerson. I looked sharply at him, suspecting sarcasm, but his face was grave and sympathetic. It was also ghastly pale. The sooner he received my medical attention the better, and yet I lingered, unwilling to leave the unhappy woman without some final word of farewell. But what word ? The noble phrases of the Christian burial service seemed somehow inappropriate.

As he so often does, Emerson came to my rescue. Softly and sonorously he intoned, 'Sleep, Servant of God, in the protection of God.'

So speak the angelic judges of the Moslem faith to the new-born souls of true believers who have passed the test and are destined to breath the sweet air of Paradise.

'Very nice, my dear,' I said. 'Whatever their origin, the words are beautiful and comforting.'

'And general enough to cover all the contingencies, Peabody.'

'You don't deceive me, Emerson,' I said, taking his arm - and quickly releasing it, as he yelped with pain. 'Your cynicism is only a mask.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson.

Tarek led us to a handsome suite of rooms which must have been the living quarters of one of the high-ranking priests.

'Rest and restore your strength, my friends. Whatever you wish shall be given unto you; you have only to ask. Forgive me if I leave you now; there is much to do. After night has fallen I will return, to lead you to the caravan and bid you farewell.'

He hastened out before I could ask even one of the many questions that were bursting for utterance. 'Don't bother him now, Peabody,' said Emerson, sinking gratefully onto a soft couch. 'A successful usurper has his hands full.'

'He is not a usurper, but the rightful king, my dear.'

'Pretender, usurper, rightful heir - the key word is "success-ful,"

Peabody. Is there anything to drink? My throat is dry as a bone.'

Reminded thus of my own duties, I hastened to relieve my suffering spouse. Servants, who treated us with the awe accorded royalty, supplied my requests for water and food, wine and bandages. Not until Emerson's wounds had been tended, and I had seen the colour return to his cheeks, did I allow him to talk. There was no dearth of conversation, however, since Ramses had a good deal to say.

I permitted this - nay, I encouraged it - since I was somewhat curious as to how he had managed to get from the tunnel to the interior of the statue. I did not even complain when he talked with his mouth full. As he ate voraciously of the roasted meats and fresh fruit with which we had been supplied, he explained it was his first meal for almost twenty-four hours. 'Approxi-mately half of the carriers of the god were supporters of Tarek's. They smuggled me into the temple before daylight. As you may have observed, Mama and Papa, I am not unlike the people of this place in physical appearance; in the darkness of the sanctuary I was able to pass for the individual who had been selected (by Nastasen and the high priest) to manipulate the statue. He was - er - removed by Tarek's men. I was assured he would come to no harm.'

He paused to swallow a mouthful of grapes that would have choked a normal boy, and his father said interestedly, 'But how did you get in touch with Tarek?'

'Thanks to your warning, Papa, I was able to hide a number of useful articles in the tunnel before I had to retreat there myself. I had, of course, observed how Amenit opened the trapdoor -'

'Of course,' I muttered.

'Adults underestimate children,' said Ramses, looking smug. 'She was careful to prevent you from seeing what she did, Mama, but she did not care if I saw. Also, Tarek had told me, during the dinner party when I had the honour of sitting with him, that there was a means of escape through the tunnel should we need to employ it. Additional messages, giving further details, came to me tied to the collar of the cat.'

'Of course,' I cried in deep chagrin. 'Ramses, why did you not share this information with your parents?'

'Now, Peabody, don't scold the lad,' said Emerson cheerfully. 'I am sure he had excellent reasons for doing as he did. I want to hear how you found your way through that maze of tunnels, my boy.'

On the occasion of our visit to the false High Priestess, and again when Mentarit took us to Nefret, Ramses had marked the path by means of the chalk he carried in his pocket or pocket pouch. He was therefore able to retrace his steps to the room where Nefret had met us. Not only had he taken my matches and candle, he had squirrelled away a lamp and an extra pot of oil, several small jars of water, and a packet of food. He was thus equipped for a fairly prolonged stay, should this be necessary, once he reached the room aforementioned. The message he had sent Tarek, via the cat, informed the former that that was where he could be found should it be necessary for him to retreat into the tunnels. He had beguiled the time of waiting by exploring other passages, using trails of thread to avoid losing his way.

'I discovered a number of interesting tombs,' he explained. 'And of course I took copious notes.'

'Were you there, all alone, until last night?' I asked, forgetting my annoyance with him in maternal pride. I would never have told him so, for he was vain enough already, but I felt certain few lads of his age could have behaved as courageously.

'Not alone,' said Ramses. 'Not all the time.'

'Tarek visited you there?'

Ramses nodded. 'Tarek and... and...' His prominent Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

'And who? Mentarit?'

Again Ramses nodded and swallowed. His face had the same vacant look I have sometimes observed on the features of Evelyn's infants. 'And... SHE

The capital letters are not an affectation of mine, dear Reader. Only thus can I begin to convey the intensity with which Ramses pronounced the pronoun.

'Oh, dear,' I said.

'Nefret?' Emerson asked interestedly. 'What a brave little girl she is, to take such a risk.'

'SHE,' Ramses began. 'SHE...'

I was tempted to kick him, as I have seen exasperated owners of motor cars kick the engine when it won't start. Fortunately Emerson changed the subject.

'Well, my boy, I am proud of you, and I know your mama is too. That you should have pursued your archaeological research under those conditions is really splendid. Where are your notebooks?'

'Tarek has them,' said Ramses, who was glib enough on every subject but one. 'I hope he will remember to return them before we go.'

'We can trust Tarek to do whatever is necessary,' I declared. 'He is willing to trust us in an equally important matter, and I think we must give him our word that we will never speak or write of what we found here.'

Ruefully, Emerson nodded in agreement. 'Tarek is right. Treasure hunters and adventurers, not to mention the soldiers of the European powers, would descend on this place and wreak havoc. We must and will keep silent. But curse it, Peabody, what a lost opportunity for research! It would make us the most famous archaeologists of all time!'

'We are already that, Emerson. And even if we were not, we could not build our reputations on the destruction of an innocent people.'

'Very true, my dear. And,' Emerson added, brightening, 'we have seen enough and taken enough notes to throw a very useful light on ancient Meroitic culture. So we are agreed, eh? Let'sdrink to that.'

So we did - Ramses in water, despite his objections - and it will now be clear to the Reader why the map that accompanies this text and the description of our route, have been deliberately designed to mislead. The day will come, no doubt, when new inventions will allow the exploration of the western desert, and the hidden valley will be opened to the outside world; but never will this come about through the breaking of his or her word by an Emerson.

Though I urged my valiant spouse to snatch a few hours of needed sleep, he insisted he did not need it. 'We must be ready to leave as soon as Tarek comes for us. We aren't in the clear yet, Peabody and Tarek knows it - that's why he is waiting until night to get us away. Not only will Nastasen's disappointed allies be burning for revenge, but there is probably a party, composed of people like Murtek, who would love to keep us here, picking our brains and using our prestige to enhance their authority.'

'You are right, Papa,' said Ramses. 'I heard Murtek arguing with Tarek - most deferentially, of course - on that very topic. Not even Murtek knows that - SHE - is going with us. The priests believe - HER - to be the incarnation of Isis, and would not willingly give - HER - up.'

I had a feeling that Ramses's capitals were going to get on my nerves, but this was not the time to raise the issue. 'Poor child,' I said, 'she has had a terrible time and I am afraid she will find it difficult to adjust to a new life. We must do all we can to help her. Ramses, you must never ever mention that her mother - '

'Please, Mama,' said Ramses in tones of freezing dignity. 'I am deeply hurt that such a thought should enter your mind. The happiness of - of - he choked, but managed to get the words out - 'of Miss Nefret is as vital to me as my own. I would - I would - er - do anything to ensure it.'

'I beg your pardon, Ramses. I believe you.' It would have been impossible not to; his eyes had the fearful shine of a religious fanatic's. Deliberately I went on, 'But it won't be necessary for you to do anything more. She has a loving home awaiting her, and a great fortune as well. When I think of the joy of her dear old grandfather - '

'Hmph,' said Emerson, clearing his throat. 'Ramses, my boy, why don't you go and have a nice wash?'

'It seems a waste of time,' objected Ramses. 'I will be dirty again almost immediately. The desert journey - '

'At least you can start out clean,' I said. You don't want -HER - curse it, I mean Nefret - to see you so grubby and dishevelled, do you?'

Ramses had opened his mouth to protest. He closed it again, looked thoughtful, and left.

'Oh, dear,' I said, sighing. 'Emerson, I am afraid we are in for it. Did you see how Ramses - '

'I saw Ramses go, which was what I intended. I don't want him to hear this.'

'What, for heaven's sake? You alarm me, Emerson.'

'There is no cause for alarm, Peabody - not for us, at any rate. It is that poor child, for whom I feel the same loving concern that Ramses, to his infinite credit, has displayed.'

'Not quite the same sort of concern,' I murmured.

'I beg your pardon, Peabody?'

'Never mind. Go on, my dear.'

'I don't think you quite grasp all the implications, Peabody.

Remember Willoughby Forth's innocent raptures about his pure young bride, and a certain phrase in his letter to his father. Consider again what you said to that poor woman just before she flew into a rage. Recall the date of Nefret's birth - Forth's rejection of his former life - the infanticidal madness of his wife - the reputation of that old rip his father...'

'Oh, no, Emerson,' I gasped. 'Surely not!'

'We may never know for certain,' Emerson said, 'and I, for one, would prefer not to know. But I will not hand that shining child over to her old villain of a... whatever he may be. He is no fit guardian for an innocent young girl. If what we suspect is true he might even be cad enough to tell her; and I would never sleep soundly again if I had been a party to such a dreadful thing. It would shatter the child. She has had anguish enough. What she needs... But I needn't tell you, Peabody, you know.'

I had to clear my throat before I could speak. 'No, Emerson, I don't believe I do. That is - what do you think it is she needs?'

'Why, a normal, ordinary, loving home, of course. The tender care of a mother, the protection of a strong yet gentle father, playmates of her own age and intellectual capacity... Ah, but I can safely leave all that to you, my dear. I have every confidence in your ability to make the proper arrangements.'

He did not seem to expect a reply, which was just as well. I do not believe I was capable of articulation.

When Tarek came for us, we were ready and waiting. The servants had brought a fresh shin for Emerson, and robes, like those of the Beduin, for us all. There was nothing more we could do to prepare, but I must say that Ramses was as clean as I have ever seen him.

Tarek was dressed like a soldier, with sword and dagger, bow and quiver. His only insignia of rank was a narrow fillet of gold, with the twin uraeus serpents on his brow. He sank wearily into a chair. 'The moon has not yet risen. There is a little time before you must go; let us talk together, for my heart tells me we shall not meet again.'

'Bah,' said Emerson. 'Don't be such a pessimist. We will honour our promise to keep the Holy Mountain a secret, but life is long and full of surprises.'

Tarek smiled. 'The Father of Curses speaks wisely.' He placed an affectionate hand on the shaven pate of Ramses, who had sat down on the floor beside his chair. 'The stonecutters have already started to work on the great pylon which will honour you and your noble parents, my young friend.'

'Thank you,' said Ramses. 'What about my notebooks?'

'Ramses!' I exclaimed. 'Is that any way to talk to His Majesty?'

'The servants have brought them,' said Tarek, laughing. 'And also the things you left in your rooms.' He reached into the pouch at his belt and took out a book, which he handed me. 'I return this in person, Lady, since it was I who stole it from you.'

I glanced at the title, smiled, and handed it back. 'It is yours, Tarek. I can easily get another copy. Mr Haggard's books are very popular in England.'

Tarek's face lit up; for the first time he looked as young as he really was. 'It is mine to keep? A great gift, a noble gift. It will be one of the treasures of my house.'

'Oh, good Gad,' growled Emerson. 'Amelia, if you have finished corrupting the literary tastes of a royal house, I would like to ask a few sensible questions.'

'Ask,' said Tarek, tucking the copy of King Solomon's Mines carefully into his pouch.

'We know now why you were so anxious to bring us here, and some of the tricks you used,' Emerson began. 'But why the devil did you go through such intricate manoeuvres instead of simply telling us the truth from the start?'

Tarek's face hardened. 'Would you have believed me?'

'Certainly!' Emerson caught my eye and had the grace to blush. 'Well - perhaps not immediately. But you could have convinced us, given time - '

"Time was what I did not have,' said Tarek gravely. 'Nor did I have the knowledge of you and the lady I have now. By the time I had travelled to Cairo and then to England, I had learned how those of your colour treat those of mine.'

I would have denied it, but I could not. Shame, for my nation and my race, brought the colour flaming to my cheeks. Emerson bit his lip. 'You are right,' he said. 'What can I say?'

'You need say nothing. There is no hatred in your heart or that of the lady - but there are few like you.'

Tarek went on to explain that by the time he reached England he was sadly embittered by the contempt with which he had been treated - he, who was a prince in his own land. Nevertheless he persisted, overcoming the obstacles he met with rare courage and intelligence, until he found himself unable to deliver Forth's letter. The servants drove him from the door, and the police threatened him with arrest if he returned to that aristocratic neighbourhood.

'I did not know what to do,' Tarek said simply. 'I crept back by night and left the packet on the doorstep, but for all I knew it might have been ignored or thrown away. I had seen the young one with the fiery hair come and go from the house; I learned he was the son of Forth's brother, but I was afraid to speak to him there, for the soldiers in blue [the police] had threatened me with their dungeon. I followed him instead, to your house, though I did not know it was yours until I asked a man passing by. Forth had told me of you, and I thought, That is why the young one has come here. The old one showed him the message and he seeks the help of Emerson. So I waited, hiding in the darkness, and saw the old one come, and knew I had been right.'

'All the more reason for you to approach us directly,' said Emerson. 'You would not have been driven from our door.' 'I know that now,' said Tarek. 'I did not know it then. And you have not heard the rest.' He hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. 'I had not come alone to England.

Two came with me. One you know - Akinidad, who was with you for a time in Nubia, and who carried my orders back to my scouts at the oasis. The other. The other was my brother Tabirka, the son of my father by his favourite concubine. He was closest to my heart of all my brothers.

'He was at my side that night. When the carriage of the old one left, I tried to stop it, but the coachman struck at me with his whip and would have run me down. For many hours we stood by the gate, my brother and I, discussing what to do. There was no one about; the rain had stopped and the lights in your house burned late. "Go to them," my brother urged. "The men of Egypt say that Emerson is great and good, not like the other Inglizi. He was the friend of our father Forth. He will listen. We do not know what lies the others may have told him."'

'At last he won me over. The lights still burned in your house. But when we approached the gate, there was a sharp cracking sound. My brother cried out and clapped his hand to his arm. It was only a small hurt, but as we ran away - for I had no weapon and I knew the sound of the bullets that can strike from afar -there were more shots, and my brother would have fallen had I not caught him up and carried him away. I laid him upon the ground while I went to get the cart and horse we had hired. When I came back he was... I heard your voices, calling, but I could not leave him like a dead animal, without the rites of burial. I took him away; and later I stole a spade from a farmhouse and buried him deep in the woods, near a great standing stone. When you return...'

'Yes, of course,' I said gently. 'I know the place. No wonder you did not trust us! You must have thought we fired those shots.'

"I saw no one else. Later, after I had followed you to Egypt I spoke with many men, learning of your plans, and learning as well that men had naught but praise for the Father of Curses and his Lady. I sent Akinidad ahead, to bring another of my men from the scouts, directing them to meet me at Gebel Barkal. There, at last, we spoke face-to-face, the three of you and I, and I learned to love and honour you.' He covered his eyes with his hand, briefly, then rose. 'But come; the hour is upon us. My heart is sore to lose you, and parting prolonged is made more painful.'

'Nefret,' I began.

'She will meet us there. Hasten.'

Accompanied by several soldiers, we hurried along through endless winding corridors until we reached a door, barred and blocked and heavily guarded. As we approached, the men grounded their spears, dropped to their knees and bent forwards till their foreheads touched the ground. From one averted face came a muffled voice that said, 'We are your men, Father of Curses. We will follow you through life unto death.'

'I say, Peabody,' Emerson exclaimed in high delight. 'It's Harsetef and his chaps; they came through alive after all. Splendid, splendid!'

The men got to their feet and I said, 'Yes, Emerson, I too am delighted, but I hope they don't mean that literally. It would be frightfully inconvenient to have them following us through London and down to Kent, especially dressed like that.'

'Do you really think so? I was rather looking forward to introducing them to Gargery. He enjoys this sort of thing so much. And Peabody - only imagine the look on Lady Carrington's face the next time she calls to complain about Ramses and is greeted by this lot, in full uniform...'

'No, Emerson.'

'No?' Emerson sighed. 'I suppose you are right. Hear then, my brave men, the last command of the Father of Curses. Serve King Tarek faithfully as you would serve me. The eye of the Father of Curses will be upon you and the blessing of the - '

'Emerson, do cut it short!' I begged, for Tarek was fairly dancing with impatience. Emerson gave me a reproachful look but obeyed, giving Harsetef his pipe as a memento. 'I am out of tobacco anyhow,' he explained, as the young soldier regarded the sacred relic with awe.

We followed Tarek along the winding ways. The tunnel was only wide enough for two people to walk abreast; a few men could have defended it against a multitude. Finally we emerged into a courtyard open to the sky and walled with towering cliffs. It must have been a ravine or cleft which had been widened over the centuries until it was now large enough to serve as a corral. Cubicles cut out of the rock wall served as stables and storerooms. In the pale moonlight I saw that a dozen camels were waiting. Several of the men had already mounted; others, clad in the loose robes used for desert travel, gathered around at Tarek's low-pitched call. He uttered a few curt instructions, and they scattered to finish the final loading

Tarek turned to us. 'Now is the moment my heart dreads,' he began.

I poked him, not ungently, with my parasol, for I knew that if he and Emerson got to exchanging compliments, we would be there all night. 'Our hearts are heavy too, my friend, so let us get it over with. You must go back to your duties.'

'True.' Tarek smiled wryly. 'There are pockets of rebellion still to be overcome, and my uncle Pesaker is yet untaken. I will also have to deal with Murtek and the other priests when they discover I have violated the oldest law of the Holy Mountain.

Farewell, my friends, my saviours - '

'Where are the others?' I interrupted.

'They come.' Tarek gestured, and I saw a pair of white-clad forms emerge from the tunnel. 'Again and yet again, farewell.'

He embraced me and Ramses, and would have done the same to Emerson had not the latter avoided it by grasping Tarek's hand and wringing it vigorously. 'Good-bye, Tarek, and good luck. You are a good chap. Come and see us if you are ever in England.'

Tarek nodded and turned away. He was incapable of speaking, I believe, for an even more painful farewell was yet before him. But as he started towards the veiled figures a reverberating boom echoed from beyond the cliffs and a tongue of flame shot skyward. Tarek let out a ripe Meroitic curse. 'It is as I feared. I am needed. Hasten, my friends; one day we may meet again.' He ran for the tunnel entrance even as he spoke, followed by his guards.

The two women glided towards us. Emerson caught me around the waist and attempted to lift me onto one of the kneeling camels. 'Just a moment,' I cried, resisting. 'What about Reggie?'

'Oh, come, Peabody, surely you can't entertain any further doubts about that young villain. He is - '

'Here!' With a diabolical laugh one of the veiled figures flung back its swaddling. Leaping upon Ramses, Reggie seized him and pressed a pistol to his head. 'So, Professor,' he went on, 'you were not as gullible as your trusting little wife. I always was a favourite with the ladies.'

Cut to the quick, I exclaimed indignantly, 'I have known for a long time that you were not what you pretended, and if I had entertained any doubts, they would have been removed by Tarek's story of his brother's murder. You tried to kill them both to prevent them from reaching us. You did not leave our house that night with your grandfather, you had come before him, in your own carriage. Did you know Tarek was there, or were you skulking about in the hope of murdering us?'

'I wouldn't do anything so stupid,' said Reggie contemptuously. 'You underestimate my intelligence, Mrs Amelia - you always have done. Of course I knew Tarek was there. My grandfather had shown me that confounded message from Uncle Willie. I tried to convince him it was a fraud, but he wouldn't listen to me. Then one of the obliging constables in Berkeley Square warned me about the "nigger," as he politely termed him, who persisted in hanging about the house. I spotted Tarek without difficulty; there aren't many men of his height and colour to be found in that neighbourhood, and as soon as I saw him I realised it must have been he who brought the message from Africa. The constable assured me he would be arrested if he tried to speak with Grandfather, so that was all right, but when the old man took it into his head to consult with you, I knew I was in trouble. I could keep Tarek from Grandfather, but I couldn't prevent him from approaching you. The message itself might not convince you of its truth, but the testimony of the messenger certainly would, for you were among the few people in the world capable of weighing that testimony correctly. I had no choice, therefore, but to dispose of the messenger. He had been trailing me all over London and I was careful not to lose him when I drove to your house. I lay in wait for him after I left you; unfortunately you came rushing out before I could finish him off, and I had to make myself scarce.'

The moonlight shivered along the folds of his sleeve as he tightened his grip on the pistol. There was no response from Ramses; indeed, the poor lad could not have moved, for Reggie had him by the throat; but Emerson growled and tensed as if to spring. I caught his arm.

'You counted on inheriting your grandfather's fortune,' I said. 'You could not endure the idea that there was another heir living. When you failed to silence Tarek, you must have feared he would find us in Egypt or in Nubia and persuade us to change our minds - which of course we would have done had we known the truth. You couldn't take that chance, for you were well aware that when the Emersons set out to do something, they do it. So you followed us to Nubia. Your transparent attempts to turn us against Tarek failed, so you and your Egyptian servant tried again to kill him when you found him with Ramses that night. To your dismay - and, I expect, to Tarek's surprise - the broken arrow convinced us of the truth of Mr Forth's story. Realising that we were now determined to pursue the quest, you announced your intention of doing the same - but your real motive was to lure us into the desert where, following the false map you had left with me in lieu of the accurate copy you stole from Emerson, we would perish miserably of thirst. The messenger you sent back - '

'Was well-coached in his role,' said Reggie. 'Unfortunately shortly after he left us, we were captured by one of Tarek's patrols. They had been warned to watch out for me.'

'How did you fall into Nastasen's hands?' I asked.

'Good Gad, Peabody, this is no time for long-winded explanations,' Emerson burst out.

'Oh, I am in no hurry,' Reggie replied. 'I must wait until my dear little cousin joins us so that I can make a clean sweep.'

Another explosion echoed from beyond the cliffs, and Reggie's teeth gleamed in a smile of evil satisfaction. 'A few sticks of dynamite provide a useful distraction, don't they? Tarek was the only one who might have recognised them for what they were and luckily I and my luggage were safely in his brother's custody by the time he returned. I hope one of the charges blows him to Kingdom Come! I can't count on that, however, so I must make sure of Nefret before I leave. Even with you out of the way, Tarek might find a means of getting her back to England, and I can't risk that, not after all the trouble I've been to.'

'So you did know about Nefret,' I said.

'From the first. Amenit told me.' The second woman lifted her veil and I saw the dark, handsome face of the First Hand-maiden. The rash had faded, but the expression with which she regarded me showed it had not faded from her memory.

'Nastasen simply kidnapped me from his brother's men while Tarek was gadding about with you,' Reggie went on. 'He thought I could be of use to him - and I knew he could be of use to me, once I understood the situation. Our goals were the same. He wanted Tarek dead and little coz in his harem; that suited me very well, for without Tarek she didn't stand a chance of getting away. I assumed you had gone astray in the desert. Confound it, I had taken every means possible to ensure you would - the false map, poison in the camel's medicine, and my trusty (and well-paid) servant Daoud to persuade your men to desert you. Imagine my chagrin when you turned up after all. Then, of course, I had to think of another plan. Damn it, where is that stupid girl?'

He turned his head to glare at the tunnel entrance.

I could hear Emerson growling like the beast of prey he would become if anyone harmed his son. His body quivered like a taut bowstring, but he dared not attack while the pistol pressed against Ramses's head. The camel drivers stood staring in bewilderment; they had not understood a word, and even if they had, they would have been as helpless to act as we.

As Reggie turned, there was a sudden movement from the rider of the camel nearest him. Some object I could not clearly discern hooked around the arm that held the pistol and jerked it sharply up and away. The sound of the shot reverberated from wall to rocky wall like a Catling gun; before the echoes died, Emerson had borne Reggie to the ground. Amenit drew a dagger from her swathings. As she struck at Emerson's back I brought my parasol down on her head. She dropped the dagger, and I caught her in a wrestling hold and held her until the drivers, now belatedly aware of the danger, could come to my assistance. I then managed to pry Emerson's fingers from Reggie's throat. The young villain was unconscious and his tongue was protruding.

'What shall we do with them?' I asked breathlessly.

'Tie them up with their own swaddling and leave them for Tarek,' Emerson replied. 'He'll think of something ingenious, I expect.'

'Better he than you, my dear,' I said.

'Yes; thank you for stopping me, Peabody. At least I think I thank you... Now where the devil is that girl? We'll have to go looking for her if she doesn't turn up soon.'

'I am here,' said a sweet, familiar voice. The rider whose quick gesture had saved the day threw back the hood of her robe and the starlight glimmered in the twisted braids of her hair. 'It was Ramses's idea that I disguise myself thus, and steal away unobserved,' Nefret went on, glancing down at Ramses, who had attached himself to the front leg of her camel and was staring at her with a particularly sickening expression. 'Had it not been for his wise advice, I might never have got away. But hurry! We dare not linger, dawn will come sooner than we like.'

'Quite right, my dear,' said Emerson, prying Ramses off her camel's leg and tossing him into a saddle. He was as limp as a stuffed doll. 'Ready, Peabody? Good. It is a pleasure to have you with us, young lady. What did you use to hook that bas -er - that rascal's arm so neatly?'

From the folds of her robe Nefret took a strange object. I had to look twice to recognise it - the crooked sceptre of the pharaohs of ancient Egypt, and of the god Osiris in his capacity of king of the dead. 'I brought all the artifacts I could gather up,' she said coolly. 'I thought you might be interested in studying them.'

Bereft of speech, Emerson beamed at her in silent admiration. That made two of them. I gave my camel a sharp blow. With a grumble and a lurch it moved forwards. The others fell in behind me. The great rocks that hid the entrance rolled aside, and the caravan turned into the winding path that traversed the outer ring of the cliffs. Fantastic rock formations lined the way, but overhead the stars shone bright, and a keen night breeze caressed my cheeks. Free! We were free! Ahead lay the desert with all its perils, and civilization - with even greater perils. The strange foreboding that had seized me had nothing to do with perils of either kind. There was one consolation, though. Nefret was the only individual I had ever met who could strike Ramses dumb. One could only hope that state of things would endure.

The End