A River in the Sky

When the brew was steeping he sat down, his back against the trunk of a fig tree. Keeping watch was definitely a sensible idea. They were too close to the road for comfort and the man who had brought them here had said not all in the villages were trustworthy. Did that mean that some of the villagers were not members of the Sons of Abraham, whoever those ambiguous individuals might be? They had done well by him and David so far. But Mansur had the same identifying mark, and if he was a member of the group, they couldn’t all be as well-intentioned. Or were they? Had Mansur been playing a double game all along? Their escape had been a little too easy, some of the items left in their luggage a little too useful. The word of their escape had spread with remarkable speed. Thinking back on that morning, Ramses began to wonder if they hadn’t been driven like cattle, headed off into byways that would lead them eventually to a safe refuge.

He hadn’t felt so stupid and ineffectual since he was ten years old, when the girl he was trying desperately to impress had had to save him from the grasp of an abductor. He had fallen on his head and rolled into a ditch, a figure of shame and ridicule. And here he sat, waiting for her and his parents to rescue him again…

The sound of a voice jerked him awake. He had fallen into heavy slumber, sitting there. Hazy with sleepiness and berating himself for his failure as a lookout, he hurried in to see if it was David who had called him. David was sound asleep; he didn’t stir even when Ramses spoke his name.

He made his way back to the entrance and peered out. There was no one in sight, and no further sounds-except the faintest of noises that might have been bare feet picking a path over pebble-strewn ground. The sounds faded into silence as he listened, and then he realized something was there, just inside the gate, something that hadn’t been there before. The shadows were thickening; the object was an amorphous shape whose outlines were hard to make out.

He waited for another five minutes, counting off the seconds. The object didn’t stir, and the sounds of movement had stopped. It wasn’t curiosity that brought him out into the open, but need. Their water was running low and their food was gone. If this was, as he dared hope, another contribution of supplies from allies in the village, it would get them through the night and he wouldn’t have to risk looking for a spring or a well. Still, it was with a long breath of relief that he recognized the object as a water skin and, behind it, a smaller cloth bag.

When he got back to the entrance, David was there. He looked terrible-sunken eyes peering out of a tangle of beard and hair, and he was leaning against the wall as if he couldn’t stand without that support. He was holding a rock.

“Why didn’t you wake me before you went gamboling out into the open?” he demanded. “There might be a whole damned troop of Turkish soldiers lying in wait for you to show yourself.”

“You’d have been a great help with that pathetic rock,” Ramses said. He lowered his burden to the ground and reached out a supportive arm. “Sit down before you fall down and let’s open our presents. One of the Sons of Abraham has paid us a visit.”

“Just like Christmas, isn’t it?” David said, after a long drink of fresh water. He passed the skin to Ramses and rummaged around in the bag. “Cheese, bread, grapes…What’s this?”

“It looks like more of the herbal medicine. I’ll brew up a fresh batch. You look better, but a few more doses wouldn’t do you any harm.”

“It makes me too sleepy.”

He was eating grapes with more relish than he had yet shown for food. Ramses watched him with an affection he would never have displayed in words or actions. It was amazing what a difference that humble gesture of goodwill had made; the mellow evening light seemed rich and comforting, the hoary old walls protective rather than forbidding. The small fire he had started burned clean and bright.

“I think we can sleep without worry tonight,” he said gently. “People are looking after us.”

AS WE MADE OUR WAY toward the dining salon I pondered an idea that had only recently occurred to me. We had been contacted by the War office a day or two after we arrived in Jaffa, yet there had been no communication from them here. For all I knew, Jerusalem could be swarming with spies of all nations, including our own; certainly one would expect that MO2 would be on the trail of Frau von Eine and would notify us of her presence in the city. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that a message had gone astray, so when I saw Mr. Fazah behind the desk I told Emerson to go on ahead and I approached the assistant manager.