Neville rapidly became aware that he was not the only person out in the darkness. Three voices, speaking Arabic, caught his ear. Within a few phrases, Neville recognized the voices of their camel wranglers: Ali, Ishmael, and Miriam.
Miriam’s voice, more high-pitched than those of her brother and father, carried clearly.
“Allah will keep us safe. Have you forgotten the creed? There is no God but Allah! How can you fear these ancient curses? They are the credulous beliefs of credulous people.”
Ali replied, “But my brother, your uncle said . . .”
“Uncle is more than half pagan!” Miriam nearly spat the words. “I thought you were wiser than he.”
She certainly does have her share of pluck, Neville thought, remembering Eddie Bryce’s description with amusement. I wonder if Eddie realizes just how much.
It hadn’t escaped Neville just how frequently his sergeant found excuses to exchange a few words with the girl. Bedouin tribes varied greatly in how much liberty they gave their women—and a camel merchant like Ali might be forced to give his daughter much more freedom than would a wealthy man who could afford a fully isolated harem.
Nor had Neville missed how often Miriam’s dark eyes—all of her face that could be seen over her modest veil—followed Eddie as he went about his duties. Doubtless Ali had noticed as well, but it was becoming apparent that Miriam was more than a match for her father. Clearly as long as she did nothing untoward, Ali would avoid scolding her.
“Besides,” Neville heard Miriam continue scornfully, “would you have us flee on foot into the desert? The English will not lightly let you take the camels.”
Ali muttered something that Neville did not catch, and Miriam’s reply did nothing to clarify the matter for him.
“Are they, then?” she said, and Neville could imagine the toss of her head. “Well, then, run if you are afraid of a big rock. I am not.”
“You will obey your father!” Ali growled.
Neville decided that, unless he wanted to have a mutiny on his hands he’d better interrupt this disturbing conversation.
He cupped his hands and called out in English: “I say! Ali! Ishmael! Where have you gotten to, damn it?”
He repeated the same, leaving out the emphasis, in Arabic.
He heard a muttered exclamation, then Ali called out in a mixture of Arabic and English:
“We are here. We were only praying.”
The three returned to the camp soon after, and Neville saw no reason to make an issue of their absence, but over the evening card game he warned his companions about the possibility of mutiny.
“I don’t think Miriam is at all for it,” Neville concluded, “but both the men are frightened of the Hawk Rock. Frightened men do foolish things—but I don’t think they’ll attack us. Sneaking off in the night with as many of the supplies as possible seems more likely.”
Eddie suggested a rotation that would “accidentally” keep their camels and gear under watch at all times. Neville agreed, and when Eddie volunteered to watch, suggested instead that rather than anything overt they begin with Derek Schmidt dossing down near the camels.
“I shall complain about you people’s snoring,” Derek agreed with a wry grin, “if anyone asks, and perhaps even if they do not.”
These arrangements must have been satisfactory, for dawn found their company and their gear intact. By the following night they knew they would reach the Hawk Rock mid-morning the next day.
The Europeans remained alert that night, but when Eddie rose shortly before dawn, Ali and Ishmael were gone. They had taken nothing but their own gear, some food, and water. The camels—and Miriam—remained.
“They are cowards,” the girl said. “They fear this rock so much that they abandon me and even the camels.”
“How,” Neville asked, “will your father and brother survive a four-day journey across the desert? Four days, that is, by camel. It’ll take more time on foot.”
Miriam paused rather longer than Neville thought necessary before answering.
“They are Bedouin!” she replied proudly. “Not soft Europeans. They will have no difficulty.”
Neville didn’t doubt that the Arabs were tougher than he was, but he’d seen how ready both Ali and Ishmael had been for the afternoon’s rests. He kept his suspicions to himself.
“Miriam,” he asked gently, “do you want to follow your father, or go on with us?”
“I go with you,” Miriam replied without a pause. “I am not a coward to be afraid of a big rock, and you are men of honor.”
“Thank you for your trust,” Neville said. When Miriam returned to her tent he added in a soft voice to Eddie, “Make certain we live up to that trust. Do you understand me, Sergeant?”
“I do indeed, Captain Hawthorne,” Eddie replied crisply, but the light that had entered his eyes when he discovered that Miriam had not fled didn’t diminish in the least.
* * *
The defection of Ali and Ishmael did not change Alphonse’s plans. He put himself on point when they departed and insisted Neville ride at his side. This close, the rock no longer resembled a hawk. The lines that had seemed to define wings and other features were revealed as crags, cuts, and the work of erosion.
“You and I, Neville, will look for any paths or trails,” Alphonse said happily, “and for the water of which Chad Spice wrote.”
Neville nodded, though his choice would have been to ride along the group’s flank, watching for any signs of trouble. He’d moved Miriam to the center of the group, Eddie to the rear. Both Derek and Eddie had been cautioned to keep alert for anything out of the ordinary, but he feared that Eddie had eyes for nothing but the pert little Arab girl perched atop her camel.
She’s hardly more than a heap of cloth, Neville thought, but Eddie’s transformed her into a princess.
As they came closer to the rock, Alphonse spotted a steep trail that led toward the top. Despite Alphonse’s eagerness to begin exploring at once, Neville insisted on circumnavigating the rock before taking any other action. They found no evidence of any other human presence, but Neville noted several places where the rock could be climbed if the climber possessed sufficient patience and rope. Ample animal tracks—from small jerboa to what looked suspiciously like jackal—raised hopes that water was still available.
Alphonse’s trail proved to be too steep for the camels, but a small, sheltered box canyon tucked in the hollow of the hawk’s eastern “wing” provided an ideal place to pitch camp.
Neville assigned this task to Derek and Miriam, insisting that Eddie take a rifle and stand watch near the canyon’s opening.
“But Miriam can’t understand either German or English!” Eddie protested.
“Derek can make his needs clear with signs,” Neville replied. Then he lowered his voice, “Get a hold of yourself, man! She’s a Bedouin. You have no idea what she looks like under all that cloth, and I’m not at all convinced that her menfolk have abandoned us. Their best survival strategy would be to follow us, get hold of our gear, and leave us stranded.”
Eddie nodded, a trace of stubbornness still in his eyes.
“Think of what you’re doing as keeping Miriam safe, if you must,” Neville offered. “Do you think her father will believe we left her unmolested? Unless this entire thing is her plan . . .”
He bit his lower lip thoughtfully.
“Never!” Eddie said and stalked off to his post.
Great, Neville thought. I wonder just how much Alphonse is to blame for this? Him and his damn Parsifal!
Slinging a rifle across his back, and checking the load in his pistol, Neville went to escort Alphonse up the trail. Both men carried axes in case there was heavier vegetation above.
“Surely you do not think you will need a rifle,” Alphonse asked, his eyebrows taking flight in surprise. “A bucket perhaps. I have put a collapsible one in my pack.”
“Hunting,” Neville said shortly. He and Alphonse had already debated the need for the party to carry more weapons. “Where there is water, there may be game.”
Alphonse nodded approvingly, and without further discussion they began their climb. The steepness of the trail was the least of their difficulties. The sandy soil proved to be permeated with small pebbles that rolled underfoot, so that each step must be carefully tested. The occasional rocky stretches, though more challenging to climb, at least provided reliable footing.
Eventually, the trail spread out into a more or less level area, sheltered on all sides by rocky outcroppings, the highest of which, facing to the south, must be the head of the “hawk.” The entirety of this upper canyon was lightly covered in bristly vegetation. Some of the shrubs clustered along the edges were as much as waist high. Ferocious-looking thorns testified how they had reached that height in such a barren region.
“Good fodder for the camels at least,” Neville said, poking a narrow-leafed bush with the butt of his rifle. “Now let’s see if we can find water. Check where the vegetation is thickest.”
Alphonse nodded absently. He hadn’t heard a word.
“This is the place,” he announced rapturously. “It must be. I can feel it. Somewhere Chad Spice wrote, there was an inscription . . .”
Neville sighed. Clearly necessities like water and food took second place to archeological finds on the German’s list of priorities. However, the canyon wasn’t terribly large. Unless trouble came down from the rocks, he could cover the area with his rifle.
“Keep an eye out for snakes . . . and scorpions,” was all he said, but he was thinking about human vipers, not natural ones.
Neville easily located the spring welling up along the eastern edge of the canyon. He was beginning to hack away the shrubs that crowded around it when Alphonse cried out.
“I have found it!” he said, executing an impromptu dance of victory.
“Ye gods, man!” Neville exclaimed. “I thought you’d been bitten by a cobra.”
“It is here,” Alphonse said, pointing to the southern wall of the canyon. “Incised into the side of a rock.”
He knelt and started brushing at something with his sleeve. Despite his own responsibilities, Neville crossed to examine the German’s find.
“It looks like an obelisk,” Neville offered a moment later, “fallen on its side. I bet it was erected where the taller rocks would protect it from the weather.”
“I agree,” Alphonse said, bending closer to inspect the writing. “Hieratic, rather than hieroglyphic, I would guess New Kingdom period.”
“That’s a good deal later than I imagined your Neferankhotep,” Neville said, frowning.
“True.”
Undaunted, Alphonse rummaged in his pack until he came up with a rolled sheet of paper and a chunk of drawing charcoal.
“I will make a rubbing,” he announced, “so that I may make my translation in the camp. Derek will assist me.”
Neville wasn’t surprised to learn that Alphonse’s servant possessed the training to assist his master with this task. He was coming to respect Derek’s competence as a matter of course.
“Very well,” Neville replied. “I will finish freeing up the spring. Judging from the steepness of the path, I rather hope we can lower water directly to the camp rather than carrying it down the trail.”
By that evening, Alphonse and Derek had worked out a rough translation of the inscription. As Alphonse read it to the assembled company, his measured cadence was accented with theatrical flourishes of his eyebrows:
Remember that Anubis will bring you before Osiris.
Remember that your heart and your soul will be weighed against Maat.
Remember that the monster Ammit waits to devour the wicked.
The son and the self flies as the Nile and the boat.
The mother and the wife follow as the Nile and the boat.
Under the watching Eye of the Hawk, the homecoming is joyous.
“Nice,” Eddie said judicially when Alphonse concluded, “but what does it mean?”
Alphonse replied happily, “The first three lines are traditional warnings or cautions, but the latter portion is not so clear.”