The Golden One

“My goodwill,” said Emerson, with an evil smile.

Ramses was not quite himself, and the effect of the stu

“And your mother,” said Emerson.

He was, I believe, attempting to lighten the emotional atmosphere with a touch of humor. His comment did not have that effect. Ramses went pale, and I said firmly, “Quite right. All for one and one for all – that is our motto, is it not? You would have taken equal or greater risks for any of us, Ramses. Now that that is settled, let us get back to business. Are those papers adequate for the purpose your father had in mind?”

“Is my name on them?” Selim demanded.

“No one else’s name is on them,” Emerson replied. “If an honorable sheikh, a friend of the sultan’s, decides to take his servants -”

“And wives,” I said.

“Bah,” said Emerson. “He can take anyone he likes, I suppose. Do be quiet, all of you. I haven’t decided yet how to go about this. It might be better to make my way through the lines under cover of darkness.”

“With one arm in a cast,” said Ramses under his breath.

Emerson inspected the cast irritably. “I don’t see why I need it. My arm itches like fury. Nefret -”

“No, Father. Absolutely not.” She moved closer to Ramses, her shoulder against his. “We don’t have to come to a decision immediately. In fact, it would be the height of folly to go rushing into action until we know more. It’s all very well to say that Sethos must be in Gaza because only he could have got Ramses away, but we can’t be certain of that, can we? The most sensible course is to give him a chance to communicate with us, as Father suggested.”

And keep Ramses with her a few days longer. “I agree,” I said. “It behooves us, then, to make our presence known. Shall we pay a little visit to the suk, Nefret? Gracious, it will be good to get out of this house.”

Ramses’s limited wardrobe, and the fact that he had, as he remarked, seen enough of bloody Khan Yunus, made him agreeable to my suggestion that he remain in the house. Selim stayed with him. We left them deep in conversation, some of which had to do with Sahin’s interesting daughter.

Squashed into the to

We strolled for an hour or so, admiring the luxuriant vegetation, and purchased a few articles of clothing for Ramses in the bazaar. By the time we returned to the house I felt certain our presence had been noted by the entire population of Khan Yunus. Nefret and I were wearing our European garments. Emerson was bareheaded, but he had declined to abandon his comfortable caftan, or his beard. (I meant to attend to the beard in due course.) Our presence occasioned considerable curiosity but less surprise than I had anticipated; and as we crossed the square, Emerson was accosted by a ragged individual who addressed him by name and demanded baksheesh.

The fellow was tall for an Arab and well built; I thought for a moment Emerson was going to grab hold of his beard. But then he saw, as did I, that one of the extended arms had no hand, and that the sleeve hung empty from the elbow.

“It is too soon to hear from him, Emerson,” I said as we walked away, followed by the loud blessings of the beggar.

“No, it isn’t. We might have spared ourselves this little stroll; the word of our presence had already spread. Otherwise,” Emerson added, stroking his beard fondly, “that chap wouldn’t have recognized me.”

“But how did it get about?” Nefret demanded, quickening her pace.

“Any one, or all, of a number of ways,” I replied. “The servants have been gossiping and speculating about us ever since we arrived. There are undoubtedly informers in Khan Yunus who report to the Turks or the British; some probably sell the same information to both. Lieutenant Chetwode… Don’t be in such a rush, my dear; Selim is with Ramses, he won’t let anyone get near him.”

Ramses was asleep, curled up like a cat on the cushions of the divan. Squatting by the door, his knife in his hand, Selim was obviously disappointed to see us instead of the assassin he had hoped for.

“No one came,” he said regretfully.

“But someone might have.” I patted his shoulder. “Thank you, Selim, for guarding him.”

“It is my duty and my pleasure,” said Selim. “Now I will go and see what that fool of a cook is doing to our lunch.”

We had several callers that afternoon. All of them wanted to sell us something.

Our visit to the suk had aroused the mercenary instincts of every entrepreneur within a twenty-mile radius. It was customary for sellers of choice merchandise to bring it to the house of wealthy individuals, especially to the ladies of the harem. Female brokers are employed for this latter errand, but since we were known to be infidel English persons, we were attended by the merchants themselves, who spread out their silks and jewels, carpets and brassware, for our inspection. One of them, more ca

After that I told Selim we would receive no more callers for a while, and Emerson got out the whiskey. We were using the ka’ah of the harem as our sitting room; I had got it in a state of relative cleanliness, which could not be said of other apartments in the house. Ramses had just opened the whiskey when Selim came hurrying into the room.

“There is a man,” he panted. “An officer. He asks -”

“I’ll do my own asking. Stand out of the way.” The officer had followed him. I recognized the voice and the square, flushed face that peered over Selim’s shoulder. Selim didn’t budge.

Emerson took the pipe from his mouth. “Ah. Major Cartright, as I live and breathe. May I remind you that you don’t give the orders here? Ask politely.”

Cartright got the word out, though it almost choked him. “Please!”

Selim stepped aside, folding his arms. Cartright marched in. Emerson pointed out, in the same mild voice, that there were ladies present and Cartright removed his hat with a muttered apology.

“That’s more like it,” said Emerson. He sipped appreciatively at his whiskey. “Well? Don’t stand there gaping, you must have something to say.”

Emerson was doing his best to be a

“No,” said Emerson. “But I will do my best to prevent him from using his knife on you. You are either very complacent or very courageous to show your face after the filthy trick you played.”

Still standing – for no one had invited him to sit – Cartright took out a handkerchief and wiped his perspiring brow. “Mrs. Emerson – I appeal to you. May I be allowed to speak?”