The Golden One: A Novel of Suspense (28 page)

We did not see the children again that evening. When they joined us for breakfast, I was pleased to observe that Ramses looked more rested. He was wearing the uniform shirt and trousers, but with the shirt open and his feet bare, the hated military look was diminished. He was in full agreement with my decision that we might as well abandon our disguises. “I didn’t suppose Mother would stand being confined to the harem for long,” he remarked, selecting a piece of fruit from the tray. “It is too inconvenient,” I explained. “We were running out of excuses for admitting strange men to our quarters. I haven’t spoken with Selim for days, and in my opinion a council of war is imperative. We must plan our next move.” “Next move?” Ramses’s eyebrows tilted up at the corners. “Surely that’s obvious. There’s no point in your staying on here.” The pronoun did not escape me, but I said only, “That is one of the things we must discuss. Let us ask Selim to join us. Perhaps he can find you something else to wear, Ramses. I brought a change of clothing for us, but not for you.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Nefret drawled. “I like those short trousers. You ought to wear them all the time. Father, too.” Emerson does have well-shaped lower limbs, but he is rather shy about it. He coughed and looked away. Ramses, less self-conscious than his father, laughed and said, “I ought to return them to their owner, along with the rest of his things. Never mind that now; let’s have Selim up.” Selim was delighted to accept the invitation. Settling himself comfortably on a cushion, he looked round with an air of approval. “This is good. We have not been able to talk. Now tell me everything. What happened in Gaza, Ramses?” He had known of Ramses’s safe return — had, in fact, been the first to know, for he had recognized him at once. Ramses had not lingered to chat, being anxious to reassure us, so he had to go over the whole business again for Selim. “Ah,” said that young man interestedly. “Is she beautiful?” Everyone laughed, and Ramses repeated what Sahin had said about multiple wives. “I have not found it so,” said Selim, looking a trifle smug. “She is a brave girl, to take the risk of freeing you. I hope she does not suffer for it.” “So do I,” Ramses said briefly. I knew then what I had only suspected before. He meant to go back to Gaza. His mission had not been accomplished, and the fate of that girl would haunt him until he made sure she was safe. Selim was unable to add anything to our own deductions, such as they were, but he was of the opinion that Ismail Pasha must be Sethos. “So what shall we do now?” he inquired. “We will wait a day or two for the news of our presence to spread,” replied Emerson. “If Sethos has not communicated with us by then, we’ll go in after him.” “Father!” Ramses exclaimed. “Now, my boy, don’t waste your breath. You mean to go; don’t deny it. If my — er — if he is being held against his will, he must be freed. If he has turned traitor — which,” Emerson said grimly, “is seeming more and more likely — he must be taken prisoner by us.” “Why do you consider it more likely?” I demanded hotly. “You said before —” “He couldn’t have managed Ramses’s escape if he were a closely guarded prisoner,” Emerson replied, with equal heat. “Don’t try to defend him, Peabody, or I will begin to wonder whether you have got over your —” “Please, Emerson!” “Father has the right idea.” Nefret’s quiet voice reminded both of us that we were in danger of getting off the subject. “Traitor or captive, we must get him out of Gaza.” Ramses turned appalled eyes on her. “What do you mean, we? I admit I didn’t succeed, but that was because Chetwode mucked things up. One person has a better chance than three . . . four . . . five . . . Good God, Father, you can’t —” “I believe I can,” said Emerson. “More safely than you, Ramses. Do you suppose Sahin won’t have everyone in Gaza looking for a man of your description?” “But how —” Emerson held up one hand, demanding silence, and reached with the other into his pocket. “I have another set of papers,” he announced proudly. They were a good deal more impressive than the first set — spattered with blobs of crimson sealing wax, framed in ornate curlicues, and with quite a lot of gilt. The script was equally ornamental; it looked like Arabic, but I could make nothing of it. I handed the papers to Ramses. “Turkish,” he muttered. “Father, do you have any idea what this says?” “No,” said Emerson placidly. “Is there more coffee?” “But — but —” Ramses ran one hand through his tumbled curls and brandished the papers in front of Emerson’s nose. “Were you planning to use these to get into Gaza? For all you knew, it might be a denunciation of you, or — or somebody’s laundry list!” “Is it?” Emerson inquired. Nefret served him and Ramses with fresh cups of the Turkish coffee she brewed so expertly, and Ramses inspected the papers again. “No,” he admitted. “They appear to be in order — so far as I can tell. I’ve never been privileged to see a direct order from the Sublime Porte, signed by the sultan himself.” “Few have,” said Emerson, and sipped his coffee. “Ah — excellent. Thank you, Nefret. I didn’t suppose el-Gharbi would play me false, but the very look of those documents is enough to overawe most people, especially since literacy is —” “El-Gharbi,” Ramses broke in. “I might have known. What did you promise him in return?” “My goodwill,” said Emerson, with an evil smile. Ramses was not quite himself, and the effect of the stunning surprises his father had administered showed on his face, together with evidence of another, equally strong emotion. “So,” he said, trying without complete success to control his voice, “if I had not come back you would have marched up to the Turkish lines with a set of papers you couldn’t read and a broken arm and —” “And your mother,” said Emerson. He was, I believe, attempting to lighten the emotional atmosphere with a touch of humor. His comment did not have that effect. Ramses went pale, and I said firmly, “Quite right. All for one and one for all — that is our motto, is it not? You would have taken equal or greater risks for any of us, Ramses. Now that that is settled, let us get back to business. Are those papers adequate for the purpose your father had in mind?” “Is my name on them?” Selim demanded. “No one else’s name is on them,” Emerson replied. “If an honorable sheikh, a friend of the sultan’s, decides to take his servants —” “And wives,” I said. “Bah,” said Emerson. “He can take anyone he likes, I suppose. Do be quiet, all of you. I haven’t decided yet how to go about this. It might be better to make my way through the lines under cover of darkness.” “With one arm in a cast,” said Ramses under his breath. Emerson inspected the cast irritably. “I don’t see why I need it. My arm itches like fury. Nefret —” “No, Father. Absolutely not.” She moved closer to Ramses, her shoulder against his. “We don’t have to come to a decision immediately. In fact, it would be the height of folly to go rushing into action until we know more. It’s all very well to say that Sethos must be in Gaza because only he could have got Ramses away, but we can’t be certain of that, can we? The most sensible course is to give him a chance to communicate with us, as Father suggested.” And keep Ramses with her a few days longer. “I agree,” I said. “It behooves us, then, to make our presence known. Shall we pay a little visit to the suk, Nefret? Gracious, it will be good to get out of this house.” Ramses’s limited wardrobe, and the fact that he had, as he remarked, seen enough of bloody Khan Yunus, made him agreeable to my suggestion that he remain in the house. Selim stayed with him. We left them deep in conversation, some of which had to do with Sahin’s interesting daughter. Squashed into the tonneau of the motorcar and half-buried in bundles, I had not seen much of the town when we arrived. It had only one structure of artistic interest, a fine thirteenth-century mosque. With a few exceptions the houses were small and mean, and the suk had not much to offer. However, the gardens made up for the general squalor. Some of them were enclosed by the same thick cactus hedges that surrounded the town, very curious in appearance and more effective than any fence or wall. It was a veritable garden spot, where every variety of fruit and vegetable was grown. Fig and almond trees, orange and pomegranate waved leafy branches. We strolled for an hour or so, admiring the luxuriant vegetation, and purchased a few articles of clothing for Ramses in the bazaar. By the time we returned to the house I felt certain our presence had been noted by the entire population of Khan Yunus. Nefret and I were wearing our European garments. Emerson was bareheaded, but he had declined to abandon his comfortable caftan, or his beard. (I meant to attend to the beard in due course.) Our presence occasioned considerable curiosity but less surprise than I had anticipated; and as we crossed the square, Emerson was accosted by a ragged individual who addressed him by name and demanded baksheesh. The fellow was tall for an Arab and well built; I thought for a moment Emerson was going to grab hold of his beard. But then he saw, as did I, that one of the extended arms had no hand, and that the sleeve hung empty from the elbow. “It is too soon to hear from him, Emerson,” I said as we walked away, followed by the loud blessings of the beggar. “No, it isn’t. We might have spared ourselves this little stroll; the word of our presence had already spread. Otherwise,” Emerson added, stroking his beard fondly, “that chap wouldn’t have recognized me.” “But how did it get about?” Nefret demanded, quickening her pace. “Any one, or all, of a number of ways,” I replied. “The servants have been gossiping and speculating about us ever since we arrived. There are undoubtedly informers in Khan Yunus who report to the Turks or the British; some probably sell the same information to both. Lieutenant Chetwode . . . Don’t be in such a rush, my dear; Selim is with Ramses, he won’t let anyone get near him.” Ramses was asleep, curled up like a cat on the cushions of the divan. Squatting by the door, his knife in his hand, Selim was obviously disappointed to see us instead of the assassin he had hoped for. “No one came,” he said regretfully. “But someone might have.” I patted his shoulder. “Thank you, Selim, for guarding him.” “It is my duty and my pleasure,” said Selim. “Now I will go and see what that fool of a cook is doing to our lunch.”

We had several callers that afternoon. All of them wanted to sell us something. Our visit to the suk had aroused the mercenary instincts of every entrepreneur within a twenty-mile radius. It was customary for sellers of choice merchandise to bring it to the house of wealthy individuals, especially to the ladies of the harem. Female brokers are employed for this latter errand, but since we were known to be infidel English persons, we were attended by the merchants themselves, who spread out their silks and jewels, carpets and brassware, for our inspection. One of them, more canny than the rest, had several antiquities for sale, including a fine scarab of Seti I. The area had been in Egyptian hands for a long period of time, Gaza being one of the cities mentioned in documents of the fourteenth century b.c. Arms folded and lips set in a sneer, Emerson refused to violate his rule of never buying from dealers, but I saw the acquisitive gleam in his eyes and bought the scarab and a remarkably well preserved Phoenician vessel. After that I told Selim we would receive no more callers for a while, and Emerson got out the whiskey. We were using the ka’ah of the harem as our sitting room; I had got it in a state of relative cleanliness, which could not be said of other apartments in the house. Ramses had just opened the whiskey when Selim came hurrying into the room. “There is a man,” he panted. “An officer. He asks —” “I’ll do my own asking. Stand out of the way.” The officer had followed him. I recognized the voice and the square, flushed face that peered over Selim’s shoulder. Selim didn’t budge. Emerson took the pipe from his mouth. “Ah. Major Cartright, as I live and breathe. May I remind you that you don’t give the orders here? Ask politely.” Cartright got the word out, though it almost choked him. “Please!” Selim stepped aside, folding his arms. Cartright marched in. Emerson pointed out, in the same mild voice, that there were ladies present and Cartright removed his hat with a muttered apology. “That’s more like it,” said Emerson. He sipped appreciatively at his whiskey. “Well? Don’t stand there gaping, you must have something to say.” Emerson was doing his best to be annoying, and no one can do it better than Emerson. Cartright swallowed several words he knew better than to pronounce, and took a long breath. “Send — that is, will you please send that man away?” “No,” said Emerson. “But I will do my best to prevent him from using his knife on you. You are either very complacent or very courageous to show your face after the filthy trick you played.” Still standing — for no one had invited him to sit — Cartright took out a handkerchief and wiped his perspiring brow. “Mrs. Emerson — I appeal to you. May I be allowed to speak?” He was looking at me, not at Nefret, whose tight lips and crimson cheeks must have told him he could not expect any consideration from her. I nodded. “Are you going to claim you knew nothing about Chetwode’s plan?” “Chetwode is a bloo — — is a young idiot!” his superior exclaimed heatedly. “I didn’t know, Mrs. Emerson, and that is the truth.” Ramses spoke for the first time. “On your word as an officer and a gentleman?” The irony went unnoticed by Cartright. “Yes! I was appalled when I learned what Chetwode had done. He has been relieved of duty and will be punished appropriately. Do you believe me?” “Since you have given your word, we have no choice but to do so,” said Ramses, eyebrows raised and tilted. “Was that the only reason you came, to express your regrets?” “Regrets!” Nefret exclaimed. “That is somewhat inadequate, Major. Do you know what happened to my husband after —” “He doesn’t,” Ramses said, giving her a warning look. “I expect that is why he is here, to find out. I did make my report, Cartright, to General Chetwode.” “I know, he forwarded it immediately, and I . . .” He cast a longing glance at the bottle of whiskey. “My relief, believe me, was inexpressible. But he gave me few details — which was quite in order, quite right of you to tell him no more than was necessary.” “A basic rule of the Service,” said Ramses, in his even, pleasant voice. “You are, I suppose, entitled to know more. In a nutshell, then, I don’t know whether Ismail Pasha is the man you want or not. Chetwode didn’t give me time enough to make a determination. I was taken prisoner, as Chetwode was good enough to inform my family, but I managed to free myself later that night.” Forestalling further questions, he added, “That’s all I can tell you. Chetwode’s futile attack has made it virtually impossible for anyone to get near Ismail Pasha. They will guard him even more closely from now on.” Cartright nodded grudgingly. “We certainly can’t try the same stunt again. Not for a while. I suppose you’ll be returning to Cairo at once, then. I will make the necessary arrangements.” “We will make our own arrangements,” said Emerson. “When we are ready.” The finality of his tone, and the inimical looks Cartright was getting from everyone in the room, should have convinced him that there was nothing more to be said. No one had offered him a whiskey or even a seat. Yet he lingered, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Look here, old boy,” he exclaimed. “This is off the record, you know — but by Gad, that was well done! Chetwode was man enough to admit that you risked yourself to help him escape — and then to break yourself loose from a Turkish prison, and get through their lines . . . It was — confound it, it was deuced well done.” “Oh, you know the Turks,” Ramses said. “Careless beggars.” “All the same, I — er —” Military discipline or an inadequate vocabulary brought him to a stuttering stop. He straightened and snapped off a crisp salute. Ramses did not return it, but he nodded in acknowledgment, the corners of his mouth compressed. “How absurd military persons are,” I remarked, after Cartright had marched stiffly out and Selim had slammed the door. “Don’t underestimate him,” Ramses said softly. “I don’t,” said Emerson. “He was trying to find out how long we mean to remain here. Perhaps I ought to have come up with an excuse for staying on, but I couldn’t think of one offhand; this isn’t the place one would choose for a holiday, and there are no archaeological remains of any interest.” “Good Gad,” I exclaimed indignantly. “Do you think he is still suspicious of us? How insulting!” Ramses laughed and rose, taking my empty glass from my hand. “You ought to consider it a compliment, Mother. ‘Suspicious’ is perhaps too strong a word, but a good intelligence officer doesn’t take chances with people whose behavior is, shall we say, unpredictable. It poses a bit of a problem. If we don’t start making arrangements to leave within the next day or two, he will assume we’re planning something underhanded and place us under surveillance. That’s what I would do.” “Quite,” Emerson agreed. “Damnation! It doesn’t give us much time. Let us hope my — er — Sethos makes his move soon. Since you are on your feet, Ramses, another whiskey here, if you please. How long till dinner, Selim? That refreshing little episode has given me quite an appetite.” “I do not know, Emerson. I have been at the door all afternoon, and the cook —” “Yes, yes, my boy, that is quite all right. See what you can do to hurry him up, eh? You need not stand guard, we won’t have any more visitors tonight.” In that he was mistaken. Not long after Selim had taken himself off, the aged doorman shuffled in to announce that another merchant had called. He had a carpet for sale, a very fine carpet, a silk carpet, a — “Tell him to go away,” said Emerson. “We don’t want any carpets.” The man bowed and wandered out. He was too late and too ineffectual to intercept the seller of carpets, however. The fellow had followed him. He was a tall man with a grizzled beard and a squint. The roll of carpet was slung over his shoulder. Taking hold of the door, he shut it in the doorkeeper’s face, lowered the rug to the floor, seized one end, and heaved. A rich tapestry of crimson and azure and gold unrolled, and from the end rolled a human form — a female form, wearing a rather tasteless and very crumpled frock of bright pink silk. Coughing and choking, it raised dirty hands to its eyes and rubbed them. “Christ Almighty,” said my son in a strangled voice. I was too thunderstruck to object to this expletive, and the others were equally stupefied. Naturally I was the first to recover. I looked from the girl, who seemed to be suffering nothing worse than the effects of being bundled up in a rug smelling of camel, to the merchant, who stood with hands on hips staring at me. “Back again, are you?” I inquired unnecessarily. “Not from the dead this time,” said Sethos. “I have brought you a little gift.” “In a rug?” “It worked for Cleopatra,” said my brother-in-law. The unfortunate female sneezed violently. Automatically I handed her a handkerchief. “I’m leaving her in your care for a few days,” Sethos went on. “Make certain no one gets to her.” Without further ado, he turned and strode toward the door. Emerson made a leap for him, caught him by the arm and spun him round, so vigorously that he staggered. “Not so fast. You have a lot of explaining to do.” Instead of trying to free himself from the hand that gripped his shoulder, Sethos stared at Emerson’s left sleeve, which had fallen back, exposing the cast. “How did that happen?” he asked. “An encounter with a tomb robber in Luxor,” Emerson replied. “One of yours?” “At present I have no business arrangements in Luxor. It’s like you,” he added in exasperation, “to go dashing into a war zone with a broken arm. Just sit tight for a few days, all of you. I can’t explain now; lowly merchants do not linger to chat with customers.” “Then we will meet you elsewhere,” I said firmly. “Later this evening. Where and when?” “For God’s sake, Amelia, be reasonable! There’s a noose round my neck and it’s getting tighter by the minute. If my absence is discovered . . . Oh, very well. I’ll try to meet you tomorrow night. Midnight — romantic, isn’t it? — at the ruined house in Dir el Balah. Ramses knows it.” “What?” Ramses tore his horrified gaze from the “gift.” “Yes, I know it. What the devil —” “Later. You shouldn’t have any trouble for another day or two. Oh — I almost forgot. You owe me four hundred and twenty piastres. That’s four and a half Turkish pounds,” he added helpfully. “Quite a bargain.” After he had bowed himself out, I was at leisure to turn my attention to the young woman. Nefret had led her to the divan and was helping her smooth the tangled strands of her long hair. “Would you like to freshen up a bit before we chat?” I inquired. “For God’s sake, Mother, this isn’t a social encounter!” Ramses burst out. “You let him get away without answering any questions, let’s hear what she has to say.” She raised reproachful black eyes to his face. “Are you angry? I thought you would be happy to see me.” “He is,” said Nefret. A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. “He just has an odd way of showing it. Mother, get her something to drink.” “Thank you, I would like that. And something to clean my face and hands.” She had the instincts of a lady, at any rate. The requested objects having been supplied, she wiped her face, and drank deeply of the cold tea. I had to keep telling Ramses to be quiet; he was fairly hopping with annoyance, but we owed the girl a little time to recover from her unusual and uncomfortable trip. “Now,” I said, after she had refreshed herself, “perhaps you can tell us, Miss . . . What is your name? Ramses didn’t mention it.” “We were never properly introduced,” Ramses said through his teeth. “Esin.” “How do you do.” “How do you do,” she repeated. “Are you hismother?” Another one, I thought. Ramses has that effect on susceptible young women. I had suspected as much, even from Ramses’s expurgated version of their encounter; the way she pronounced the masculine pronoun was a dead giveaway. “Yes,” I said. “And this is hisfather, Professor Emerson. And hiswife.” “How do you do,” the girl said, with only the barest nod for Emerson. She examined Nefret carefully, and her dirty face fell. “Anyhow, I am glad to be here,” she said with a sigh. “My father has been very angry since you escaped.” “Did he blame you?” Ramses asked. “No, he thinks I am too stupid and too afraid of him.” She took another sip of tea. “He wanted to blame Ismail Pasha, but he could not, since they were together all that evening, and when Ismail Pasha went to his rooms, my father put guards at the door. To protect him from assassins, he said.” “Then how did he —” Nefret motioned Ramses to be silent. “How well do you know Ismail Pasha?” she asked. “I talked often with him. He is an Englishman, you know. I liked talking to him; he treated me like a person, not a woman, and let me practice my English and told me I was a clever girl.” She finished her tea and leaned back against the cushions. “I’m surprised your father let you talk freely with other men,” Nefret prodded. “He could not stop me.” Her dark eyes flashed. “In Constantinople many women are working now because of the war. I helped with the Red Crescent, rolling bandages. It was wonderful! We talked about sensible things, books and what was in the newspapers, and many new ideas. And we wore corsets and short skirts!” “I heard about that,” Nefret said. “Didn’t the government issue an order demanding that Moslem women lengthen their skirts, discard corsets, and wear thicker veils?” “They had to take back the order,” said this young advocate of women’s rights complacently. “We made them do it. The girls at the telephone company and the post office threatened to strike, and the ladies said they would not work for the Red Crescent anymore. But my father said I was keeping bad company, and made me come to Gaza with him, and it was so dull there. He tried to make me stay in the harem, but I got out whenever I could; it was fun, hiding from the men and exploring places where I was not supposed to be.” “The cellars,” Ramses murmured, visibly chagrined. He had underestimated her, and so had the rest of us. I had a sudden image of Esin face-to-face with Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst. Emerson had been listening in silence, his mouth ajar. Now he cleared his throat and said, “What about your father, child? He will be worried about you. Did you leave a
message for him?” “No, why should I? He doesn’t care about me, I am only a piece of property to him. I have lived in England; I won’t go back to the veil and the harem and the selling of women. When Ismail Pasha told me my father had captured an English spy, I wanted to see him, so I hid myself in the mandarah, hoping they would bring you there — and they did! My father told them to take off your filthy clothing so they would not stain his cushions, and when they did, I saw that you were very beautiful.” Nefret choked. “I’m glad you find this amusing,” Ramses said sourly. “It is not amusing,” the girl insisted. “It is sad and very romantic. I did not know who you were, and when my father said he would give me to you I was happy, because you were so beautiful and so brave, and then — then you said you were already married and my heart cracked in two, because I knew an English gentleman would never be unfaithful —” “That’s quite enough of that,” said Ramses to his wife, who had covered her mouth with her hands in an attempt to muffle her laughter. “Quite,” I said, getting a grip on myself. The conversation had been extraordinary. “Nefret, take the — er — young lady off to the bath chamber and get her some clean clothing. That rug is absolutely filthy.” “Don’t say anything important until I get back,” Nefret ordered. The girl got to her feet. “Are you still angry with me?” she asked Ramses. “Good Lord, no. I — er — I owe you a great deal. More than I realized.” He smiled at her, and a blissful answering smile spread across her face. “You owe me nothing. I will treasure the memory of that kiss forever, even if you can never be mine.” After Nefret had removed the girl, the rest of us sat in silence, reflecting upon what we had learned. We were, in my opinion, becoming somewhat overburdened with strong-minded young women. I fixed a critical gaze upon my son. “The kiss was, perhaps, a mistake.” “It seemed the least I could do, Mother.” I think he was teasing me. One cannot always be sure with Ramses. I trusted he would find Nefret’s comments equally entertaining. “A kindly error, however,” I conceded. “We will not speak of it again.” “Extraordinary young woman,” said Emerson. He added gloomily, “I suppose we’re stuck with her.” “For the time being,” I agreed. “And we certainly cannot complain, considering what we owe her. We were dead wrong about her. She managed the whole business by herself.” “With a few hints from Ismail Pasha,” said Ramses. “Don’t give me that steely stare, Mother. I am not denying her intelligence and her courage, but I would be willing to wager that she went rushing off to her sympathetic English friend as soon as they removed my — er — beautiful self to the cells, and opened her heart to him. That gave him his opening, and no one is better at putting ideas into people’s heads. I can almost hear him, can’t you? ‘The cruelties of war . . . too young to die . . . your father forced against his will to destroy a gallant enemy . . . in his heart he’d be grateful to be relieved of that grim duty . . . ’ ” “She does seem to be a romantic young person,” I said. “And clever enough to work out the details, with, perhaps, a suggestion or two from Sethos. He had probably explored the house, including the cells — ‘just in case.’ Like myself, he believes in anticipating potential dangers. Nor would he have had any difficulty in persuading her to run away with him, to join the individual who had made such an impression on her susceptible heart.” “Now, Mother,” Ramses protested. “She was bored and restless, and annoyed with her father for dragging her off to Gaza, and fascinated by Sethos. It wouldn’t have required more than that.” “Hmm,” I said. “Admittedly hermotives are less important than his. Why did he do it? Surely not to rescue a damsel in distress.” “Not Sethos,” said Emerson — who might have been fool enough to do just that. “He means to use her against her father, somehow or other. It would be confounded embarrassing for Sahin Bey — oh, very well, Pasha — to admit he had lost his daughter to the enemy. What would he be willing to give to get her back?” “We cannot be party to any such scheme,” I declared. “I will not force a young woman against her will, no matter what is offered in exchange.” “Not even Sethos?” Ramses’s eyes were on the unlit cigarette he was rolling between his long fingers. “Oh, good Gad,” I said.