“Well, curse it, Peabody, I am worried too. We ought to have heard something from the boys by now.”

“We ought to have heard something from someone,” I agreed, running a brush over my hair and twisting it into a neat coil. “Emerson, are you sure you were not told how to reach the Jerusalem representative of MO2? After all their fuss and bother, they have left us dangling. And you laughed at me the other day when I gave you the signal.”

Emerson tried not to grin but failed. “My dear, someone was teasing you. Whoever heard of one hardened spy making that absurd gesture to another of the same?”

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

After the boy had gone, with Ramses’s note tucked carefully into his belt pouch, Ramses decided he could chance making a small fire. The herb, whatever it might be, would be easier to take and probably more effective if it was brewed, like tea. He had eaten a small quantity himself; so far, no ill effects. Anyhow, why should the village healer take the trouble of poisoning them when all he had to do was call in the Turks?

Ramses was able to collect enough dry twigs and branches to get a fire going. Waiting for the water to boil, he thought over the latest encounter with the Sons of Abraham. He had assumed the name referred only to Arabs, the descendants of Ishmael, but apparently the membership included both Jews and Moslems. The boy spoke a little Arabic, but he was more at home in what must be his native tongue. Ramses’s Hebrew had been good enough to understand him and to ask questions. However, he hadn’t got much useful information. The boy had been in a hurry to get away, explaining that his absence would be noted if he wasn’t in his usual place on time. No, he would not carry the message himself; it would be passed on, from one hand to another, until it reached its destination. When, he could not say. With luck, today. If not, tomorrow. Ramses had written his father’s name in all three languages. “I don’t know where they are staying,” he explained. “The last messenger will have to inquire at the major hotels-”

The boy had cut him short. “We have our own ways. Now write the same again.”

Complying, Ramses thought to himself that someone in the group had a good head on his shoulders. Two messengers stood a greater chance of getting through than one.

The water was boiling. He stirred in the rest of the dried herb. Waiting for it to cool, he wiped David’s hot face with a wet towel. David stirred slightly; his forehead wrinkled, and then his eyes opened. They focused on Ramses’s face and then moved slowly from side to side.

“Where-” he croaked.

“Someplace safe. How do you feel?”

David tried to moisten his dry lips. “Thirsty.”

Ramses lifted his head and helped him drink. “Better,” David said, lips cracking in a smile.

He did seem better, his temperature a few degrees lower, but Ramses didn’t dare hope too much. Some fevers behaved this way, lower in the morning, climbing as the day went on.

“I’ve got some medicine for you,” he said, testing the water with a forefinger. “Drink it down like a good boy.”

David managed a few sips, and Ramses decided to save the rest for a second dose. “Can you eat something?” he asked. “We’ve got food. Cheese, grapes…”

“Not hungry. Tell me where-”

“Lie still and rest while I talk. Nothing new about that, is there?”

He brought David up-to-date, starting from the moment when he had collapsed. “So you see,” he concluded, “things are looking up. My note is on its way to the parents and we have friends hereabouts.”

“That’s nice.” David’s eyes were half closed. “So damn sleepy…Sorry, can’t…”

His voice trailed off into a snore. The medicine must be a soporific as well as a febrifuge. Ramses wished he had kept a sample of the herb. Nefret would want to test it.

It was the first time he had dared think about her for several days. David had told him he had had a hard time talking her out of coming with him. Only his assurance that he alone could carry out the plan had won her over.

He put out the fire and went to the gate. It was a beautiful morning. A few white clouds moved overhead, like sheep in a blue pasture. High above, a hawk balanced on a current of air, and from the ruined heights of the keep a chorus of birdsong arose. In the valley below he saw neat little patches of green and gold, vineyards and fields of ripened grain. This was a peaceful land, fertile enough to support a small industrious population. It was hard to imagine the crops ablaze and the hillside strewn with the bodies of the dead; yet it must have happened many times, not only during the Crusades but for centuries before and centuries after.

This was the first time he had had a chance to find out exactly where they were. He had been too preoccupied with getting David up the hillside and then with exploring the inside of the castle before night fell. He was higher up than he had expected. The hill was almost a miniature mountain, its slopes steep and rocky. If there were people working the fields below, they were surely too far distant to see him, but he moved cautiously, close to the base of the wall. The view was spectacular from that height; the city they had left was hidden by the hills, but to the east he could see as far as the coastal plain. He moved on, picking his way around spiny shrubs and gnarled trees that had struck their roots down into the subsoil, till he reached the south side of the castle. The slope wasn’t as steep there; goats grazed on the coarse patches of weeds, and several groups of small flat-roofed houses were visible below, some marked by the minaret of a mosque.

Shadows hid him from anyone who might look in that direction, but he decided he had better get back to David. Another truncated tower stood at the southeast corner. The sun was directly in his eyes when he got round it. What he saw when his vision adjusted made him draw back into the angle between tower and wall: a stretch of road hugging the curve of the hill below. It could only be the main road to Jerusalem, and it was less than half a mile from the castle height-close enough for him to make out the shapes of moving vehicles and the forms of animals and people. One group was distinguishable by their vivid red headgear-the fezzes worn by Turkish soldiers.

He went back the way he had come as fast as he dared. David was awake and trying to sit up. “Thank God,” he said weakly. “I didn’t see you. I thought…”

“Sorry.” Ramses braced his shoulders and reached for the water skin. “I went out to reconnoiter.”

“Anything new?”

“No.” He helped himself to a drink after David had finished. “But I think we had better move farther inside. We’re too exposed here. Do you feel up to it?”

“I’ll crawl if I have to. I was just thinking that I was in plain view to anyone who walked through that gate and past the tower.”

“You won’t have to crawl.” Ramses began gathering their scanty supplies together. “Here, finish the medicine. I’ll go ahead and find a good spot, and come back for you.”

Ramses felt a little easier after he had got David through the gate in the inner wall. David managed to stay on his feet but he didn’t argue when Ramses suggested they rest awhile before going on. If Ramses hadn’t known it was impossible, he would have thought David had lost a stone or more in the past twenty-four hours. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes sunken. He hadn’t lost his nerve, though. Looking round at the wilderness of tumbled stone and stunted trees and brambly shrubs, with the dark mass of the keep rising in its midst, he let out a low whistle.

“All the comforts of home. Plenty of hiding places, wood for a fire…Those can’t be fig trees, surely.”

“They say olives and figs can grow out of solid rock,” Ramses said somewhat absently.