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Cleo shivered. Thierry had spoken about the Mamelukes, their bravery and savagery, and his hand had tightened on his sword hilt as if to still a tremor of fear. She had no wish to encounter them either. ‘What will you do?’
‘I am hoping the soldiers will have been recalled towards Cairo. I imagine they will go by river, will they not? It seems perverse to march in this heat.’ Quin stood and stretched, six feet of lean muscle unselfconsciously displayed.
‘I cannot imagine how I would persuade Father to go.’ She got to her feet and made rather a business of straightening the panniers. ‘He is very stubborn.’
‘Nothing a sharp blow to the head would not cure,’ Quin said. He took the leading rein and walked off down the path leaving her blinking at his retreating back.
Did he mean that? How wonderful if he did. She was certain he would accomplish it very neatly, with no more damage to Father than a sore head when he awoke. No, it had to be a joke. Respectable engineers did not go around hitting scholars over the head and loading them on to river boats. She took a grip on her imaginings and ran to catch Quin up.
* * *
The camp was small and orderly in the bleak, soulless way of soldiers without women. Capitaine Laurent was sitting on a folding chair outside his tent, his two lieutenants standing listening to him. When he saw them approaching he stood up, watching the stranger from under heavy black brows.
‘Madam.’ He sketched a bow and the other two men did likewise. ‘Qui est-ce?’
‘Quintus Bredon, American engineer, Captain,’ Quin responded in French before Cleo could speak. ‘I have been rescued by Madame Valsac and her father. Bedouin raiders took my camels.’ He pushed back his sleeve as he spoke, revealing the edge of the bandage.
‘American?’ Laurent still made no gesture of hospitality.
‘The United States is the ally of France, is she not?’ Quin said easily. But he could see that Laurent’s stance was alert, subtly more aggressive. The two men were facing up to each other like dogs meeting on the edge of their territories, not convinced yet that a fight was required, but quite willing to scrap if necessary.
‘Oui. But what are you doing here?’
‘Indulging my curiosity. I was in the Balkans, I heard about your emperor’s savants and I decided to see for myself. There is a brotherhood amongst scientists, I find. I had hoped to reach the Cataracts—an intriguing problem in navigation—but I hear that would be suicide now.’
‘Ha!’ Laurent gestured to one of the soldiers and the man ran forward with two more folding chairs. ‘Sit, have coffee. Murad Bey is on his way north with a force of fifteen thousand, the latest intelligence confirms it.’
‘And you have what...fifty men?’ Quin glanced around the encampment. ‘I imagine your orders do not involve suicide either.’
‘Correct. We will strike camp and load up the barges.’ He gestured towards the river bank and the moored vessels. ‘I was about to send to your father, madam, to tell him to prepare to move by dawn tomorrow. We have room for the two...the three...of you and one small piece of baggage each.’
‘But my father’s books, his papers...’
‘His life?’ the captain enquired, one brow lifted. ‘Yours?’
‘It seems I may have to take you up on your offer to knock Father out after all, Mr Bredon.’ Escape, at last. A way to get across those hundreds of miles to the coast and there... And there, what? she asked herself. She was a woman with no money of her own and no protection once she left her father’s side in this dangerous country. But if she could get to France or England, surely she could find work of some kind?
Quin sat back in the chair, his relaxed stance steadying her circling, futile thoughts. ‘We might not have to resort to anything so drastic,’ he observed. ‘Would he come if he could take everything with him? He is not so blinded by his work as to think he could sit making notes on Egyptian antiquities whilst the most dangerous fighting force in Egypt sweeps over your camp, surely?’
‘No, I hope even Father would bow to the inevitable under those circumstances. The problem is to prevent the days of argument beforehand while we convince him the danger is real.’
‘The village we passed on our way here had several feluccas moored. We could buy or hire two—surely that would be enough room for the three of us and all your possessions.’
‘But I cannot sail and Father...’
‘I can sail a small boat. The rig is different, but the principles are the same. Besides, we can hire some men.’
Laurent was watching them intently, his head moving from side to side, eyes narrowed in calculation. ‘How will you pay for this, monsieur? I have no funds to buy boats for civilians.’
