Emerson hastily moved aside—an unnecessary precaution, since the blade had not come within a foot of him. “I am glad you like it, Peabody , but you had better learn how to use it before you go lunging at people.”

Ramses was trying not to laugh. “I beg your pardon, Mother,” he gasped. “It’s just that I’ve never fenced with an opponent armed with an umbrella, whose head barely reaches my chin.”

“I see no reason why that should be a difficulty. Do you, Nefret?”

She was watching Ramses, who had dropped into a chair, helpless with laughter. She started when I addressed her.

“What? Well, Aunt Amelia, I’m sure you can persuade him. Not with that umbrella, though; it looks frightfully sharp.”

“Quite,” said Emerson, who looked as if he was having second thoughts. “You’ll need proper foils, with blunted tips. And masks, and plastrons and—”

That set Ramses off again. I could not understand why he was so amused, but I was pleased to have cheered him up. As David had said, it was necessary to find what enjoyment we could in an otherwise dismal situation.

After Ramses had calmed down, he condescended to show me how to salute my opponent and place my feet and arms. He stood well behind me, even though I had, of course, sheathed the blade, and for some reason he found it necessary to read me a little lecture.

“Now, Mother, promise me that if you encounter someone armed with a saber or sword, you won’t whip that thing out and rush at him.”

“Quite,” said Emerson emphatically. “He’d have you impaled like a butterfly before you got within reach. That is the trouble with deadly weapons; they make people—some people!—overly confident.”

“What should I do, then?” I inquired, lunging.

“Run,” said Ramses, helping me up from the floor.

After we had parted for the night and Emerson and I were alone in our room I thanked him again, with gestures as well as words. “I don’t know any other man who would have given his wife such a lovely gift, Emerson.”

“I don’t know any other woman who would have been so thrilled about a sword,” said Emerson.

Afterwards, Emerson immediately dropped off to sleep. I could not follow suit. I was remembering my son’s face, alight with laughter, and wishing I could see that look more often. I thought again of David and the peril he faced because of love and loyalty. I consigned Thomas Russell to the nethermost pits of Hades for putting my boys in such danger—and then, since it was the season of peace and goodwill, I forgave the scoundrel. He was only doing his job.

Abdullah was also in my thoughts. I dreamed of him from time to time; they were strange dreams, unlike the usual vague vaporings of the unconscious mind, for they were distinct and consistent. In them I saw my old friend as a man still in his prime, his face unlined, his black hair and beard untouched by gray. The setting of the dreams was always the same: the clifftop behind Deir el Bahri at Luxor , where we had so often stopped to rest for a moment after climbing the steep path to the top of the plateau. In one such vision he had warned me of storms ahead—had told me I would need all my courage to pass through them, but in the end… “The clouds will blow away,” he had said. “And the falcon will fly through the portal of the dawn.” He frequently employed such irritating parables, and refused to explain them even when I pressed him. There was no doubt about the stormclouds he had mentioned; even now they hung heavy over half the world. The rest of it sounded hopeful, but when I was in a discouraged state of mind I needed more than elegant literary metaphors to cheer me. I could have used his reassurance now. But I did not dream of Abdullah that night.

Dawn light was bright in the sky when I woke. There was a great deal to be done, since we were expecting the Vandergelts for dinner and holding an open house afterwards. However, I could not resist trying out my new parasol, and I was lunging and parrying with considerable skill (having seen Mr. James O’Neill in the film of The Count of Monte Cristo) when a comment from Emerson made me stumble and almost lose my balance. After a short discussion and a longer digression of another nature, he consented to give me a few lessons if Ramses would not. He had studied fencing some years before, but had not kept it up, having found that his bare hands were almost as effective in subduing an attacker.

“I’m not certain Ramses can bring himself to do it,” he remarked. “A gentleman does not find it easy to attack a lady, especially if the lady is his mother. He is in considerable awe of you, my dear.”

“He certainly didn’t sound as if he were in awe of me last night,” I remarked, buttoning my combinations.

Still recumbent, his hands behind his head, Emerson watched me with sleepy appreciation. “It was good to see him laugh so heartily.”

“Yes. Emerson—”

“I know what you are thinking, my dear, but dismiss those worries for today at least.” He got out of bed and went to the washbasin. “ Fatima has put rose petals in the water again,” he grumbled, trying to sieve them out with his fingers. “As I was saying, the situation is temporarily under control. Russell has been informed of what transpired and will keep the warehouse under surveillance.”

“I still think we ought to have invited him to our open house. We might have found an opportunity for a little chat.”

Emerson deposited a handful of dripping petals onto the table and reached for his shaving tackle. “No, my dear. The fewer contacts between him and Ramses, the better.”

We had only the family for dinner that year, including Cyrus and Katherine, who were as close as family. They had brought gifts for us, so we had another round of opening presents. It was difficult to find appropriate gifts for Cyrus and Katherine, since they were wealthier than we and lacked for nothing, but I had found a few trinkets that seemed to please them, and Cyrus exclaimed with pleasure over the little painting of the gazelle Nefret had given him.

“Looks like Eighteenth Dynasty,” he declared. “Where did you find it, if I may ask?”

“One of the damned antiquities dealers, no doubt,” Emerson grumbled. “Like the cursed heart scarab she gave me. Not that I don’t appreciate the thought,” he added quickly.

Nefret only laughed. She had heard Emerson’s views on buying from dealers too often to be discomposed by them. “It was from Aslimi, as a matter of fact. He had several nice things.”

“I don’t suppose you bothered to ask the rascal where he obtained them,” Emerson muttered.

“I would have done if he had been there, though I doubt he’d have confessed.”

Ramses, who had been examining the painted scrap appreciatively, looked up. “He wasn’t there?”

“He’s ill. The Professor would probably say it serves him right.” Nefret chuckled. “The new manager is much handsomer than Aslimi, and not nearly as skilled at bargaining.”

She made quite an entertaining little tale of our visit. Cyrus declared his intention of visiting the inept manager as soon as possible, and Katherine demanded a description of the beautiful young man. The only one who contributed nothing to the conversation was Ramses.

The table made a brave show, sparkling with crystal and aglow with candles, but as I looked upon the sadly diminished group I seemed to see the ghostly forms of those who had formerly been with us: the austere features of Junker, whose formal demeanor concealed the warmest heart in the world; the beaming face of Karl von Bork, mustaches bristling; Rex Engelbach and Guy Brunton, who had exchanged their trowels for rifles; and those who were dearest of all—Evelyn and Walter, David and Lia. Fortunately Cyrus had brought several bottles of his favorite champagne, and after we had toasted absent friends and a quick conclusion to the hostilities and everything else Cyrus could think of, our spirits rose. Even Anna smiled on us all. She was looking quite attractive that day, in a rose-pink muslin frock whose ruffles flattered her boyish frame, and I saw, with surprise, that she had put color on her lips and cheeks.