He reached up to touch the creature’s mouth.
The camel jerked up its head in alarm, and gave a gurgling grunt from deep within its gut. Its mouth gaped and I caught sight of long yellow teeth and feared it was about to bite. Instead it shook its head violently from side to side, the pendulous lips flapped, and out shot a thick gush of foul-smelling green soup. It splattered over Walo, drenching his head and shoulders. The smell was of rotten grass blended with dog excrement.
*
Twenty of the ungainly beasts laden with bales of fodder and baggage formed our caravan when we took to the road. Only the lead camel had a rider. The rest of us – guards, cooks, attendants, camel drivers, the men leading our dogs on leads, and assorted hangers-on – were on foot. The cages for the ice bears and the aurochs had been fixed onto ponderous wheeled platforms, each drawn by a pair of harnessed camels. A third cart followed with the gyrfalcons in their cages and a great barrel that contained a supply of water for our menagerie.
Our route along the canal bank led across an impoverished land dotted with poor villages where the peasants worked the thin grey soil with mattocks and hoes. Old men sat in the shade of dusty palm trees and veiled women held back their curious children as they peeked from the darkened doorways of mud-brick hovels. The only livestock were flocks of scraggy goats and a few donkeys. All life depended on the spindly wooden structures that, from a distance, I mistook for hangman’s gallows. They were devices for raising water from the canal. A bucket dangled from the end of a long pole pivoted one-fifth along its length from a tall frame. A large stone fastened at the shorter end of the pole served as a counterweight so the bucket could be lifted and lowered with ease. The bucket scooped water, was swung over the bank, and the contents were tipped into a drinking trough for animals or into an irrigation ditch. I found myself wishing that Protis was still with us and could see for himself the ingenuity of this device. Where enough water remained in the bed of the canal, our camels were driven down to stand in the shallow puddles. Walo looked on from a safe distance as they noisily slaked their thirst. According to what I had read to him from the bestiary, a camel prefers muddy water, so it stirs up the silt with its feet before drinking. Our camels failed to do this and I could only presume from the look of mistrust on Walo’s face that he doubted whether they were true camels. His faith in the Book of Beasts was unshakeable.
‘If it gets any hotter, Madi and Modi may not survive,’ I observed to Abram on the evening we camped on the fringe of the marshlands where the boggy ground was too soft even for pack animals. Here the road turned aside, striking into the wilderness.
‘There should be enough water in the great barrel to sluice them down if they begin to show signs of distress, and one of my own men will stand guard over the water cart at night,’ Abram said quietly.
The edge to his voice made me look at him sharply. ‘You still think that someone might try to sabotage the embassy?’ I asked. It had been on my mind too, but the dragoman’s decision-making had been so astute thus far, I knew I should heed his advice.
‘Draining the water tank would be a good way of doing it once we’ve entered the desert. It would be no harm to take precautions.’
Abram’s concerns weighed on me and that first night I found it difficult to sleep. He had replaced all the camp equipment lost at sea when Protis’s ship sank and Osric and I were sharing a small tent. While my friend slept soundly I tossed and turned, swatting away the humming insects, listening for suspicious noises, remembering the sounds that had awakened me on the night Protis had died. Shortly before midnight I got up and went to check on the water barrel, finding one of Abram’s servants on guard and also wide awake. Relieved, I returned to my tent and when finally I did fall asleep, it was to drift off into a troubled dream: I was aboard a ship sailing, not on the sea, but across the land. I had to steer around rocks and trees, down the streets of towns and up the slopes of hills. It left me with a queasy feeling and when I opened my eyes I had a nagging headache and it was daybreak. Judging by the volume of camel grunting and bellowing, the beasts were already being loaded for the day’s march.
Osric was already awake, kneeling to roll up his sleeping mat.
‘Do you remember if the Oneirokritikon says anything about ships sailing on the land?’ I asked him.
He sat back on his heels and waited for me to explain.
I described my dream to him. From outside came shouts and oaths, then the sounds of a stick being used vigorously. Someone was getting the cart-hauling camels under way.
‘There’s a straightforward explanation,’ he said. ‘You were expecting to cross Egypt along a canal by boat. Instead, we are obliged to go by land. That’s a more difficult journey.’
He reached for the walking staff that lay on the ground beside him. It helped offset the limp from his crooked leg while we were on the march. ‘But, since you ask, there was a mention in the Book of Dreams about a ship sailing across the land.’
‘What does it say?’
‘That to dream of sailing a ship across the land, while avoiding rocks and obstacles, foretells a journey beset with many difficulties and dangers.’ He got to his feet and gently poked me in the ribs with the end of the staff. ‘As far as I’m concerned, that’s no prophecy. It’s something we already know. You had better get up now or the caravan will move on without you.’
Later that morning, we found ourselves venturing out into a dun-coloured stony plain. There was no soil, just scoured rock and the occasional patch of sand or gravel. We walked deeper into the barren land, the wheels of the travelling cages crunching on the broken stones of the rough track. The sun was merciless, the bare rock throwing back the heat, and it felt as if we were walking into a gigantic oven. The only plants were weed, thickets of thorn bushes and a few stunted trees with twisted leafless limbs. Every couple of miles we paused to draw off buckets of water from the water cart so that our animals could drink. The water that remained in the buckets was thrown over them to try to cool them off. But it was no more than a gesture. Soon the ice bears were panting and their fur was a lifeless yellow.
‘How many days will we be in the desert?’ I asked Abram after the caravan halted for the night. The camels had been unloaded and hobbled in a tight group, their packs stacked to make an open square around them. Their drivers were lighting fires of thorn twigs. Under a clear sky it was going to be chilly.
‘The guide says we should reach the sea at the port of al-Qulzum in four days’ time,’ the dragoman replied. He looked past me, over my shoulder. ‘It looks as if Walo has found something.’
I turned to see Walo walking towards us, carefully holding something cupped between his hands. When he was no more than two yards away, he announced proudly, ‘It’s a baby.’
I looked to see what he was carrying so tenderly, then sprang back in fright. Cradled in Walo’s hands was a small serpent. The length of my forearm, it had a thick body with dusty brown scales and dark markings. The head was broad and flat.
‘It’s a young one,’ Walo repeated, holding up the snake so I could see it more closely. The hair rose on the back of my neck and I backed away.
‘A young what?’ I asked. I had broken into a cold sweat. I hate snakes.
‘A young cerastes. The parents can’t be far away.’
My mind raced as I tried to follow what Walo was talking about. I had an uncomfortable feeling that the serpent was venomous. Yet in Walo’s hands it appeared completely at ease, not moving, though I could see its black tongue flicking in and out.
‘Look at its head, above the eyes,’ Walo urged, holding it up closer. It was as much as I could do to stifle a groan of fear as I swayed back out of range.