

## Baker's Woman

### By

### Tess Enroth

Copyright 2015 by Sarah T. Enroth

Smashwords Edition

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/RLSather

### Chapter 1

The western edge of the Ottoman Empire Bulgaria, January 1859

Grasping the tin basin with both hands, Florence lifted it shoulder high and tipped it toward her, spilling warm, soapy water down her body to puddle around her feet on the bare floor. She stood at a long bench with a dozen other very young women, and all were bathing for the first time in weeks or months. In their bleak and cold barracks room, they'd crawled between the rough, musty blankets on their cots still wearing their under garments.

They awoke to sounds of a banging door, a coarse shout, and they hurried into their outer garments and followed a surly guard down the stairs and across the frozen ground to a lean-to at the side of this wash-house. There they dipped hands into buckets of icy water, splashed it on their faces, and followed him to the mess hall.

In the warm kitchen, they stood around a table to drink hot tea and eat thick slabs of bread, and while they were warned not to get in the way of the workers, sometimes one of the cooks would beckon them over to the stove and let them dip their bread into pans of hot grease left from sausages served to the men.

This morning, however, the guard took them into the warm wash-house where a cook waited to ladle mush from a steaming pot into bowls. The guard bellowed orders to eat quickly, bathe and put on the clean clothes piled at the back of the room.

"Leave no mess here. Waste no time," he warned and went out, slamming the door.

Left by themselves, they finished their gruel and moved toward the big iron stove where they removed soiled garments and dropped them to the floor. On the stove, copper boilers sent steam rising toward the roof where it condensed on rafters, and the wood released a pine scent to mingle with the clean smell of laundry soap.

From the bench that ran the length of the room, they each took a metal pitcher to the boilers and dipped hot water to carry back to the basins. Using chunks of yellow soap, they lathered their chapped hands.

Gradually and tentatively at first, and then swiftly, they stroked the thick suds onto their bodies, and soon they were exchanging smiles as they luxuriated in the warmth of the steamy room.

Florence forgot her shyness as she looked at the joyful faces and marveled at the rosy, glistening bodies. She saw breasts that were gentle swells like her own and others that looked heavy, rib cages so thin she could have counted the bones and hip bones so sharp they seemed able to split flesh. They had slept every night in one room on cots only a few feet apart and every day had worked side by side, sweeping and mopping dusty barracks, yet rarely had they looked into another's eyes.

They had been wary as wild beasts, seldom speaking even though their miseries and losses were much alike.

All had survived somehow in fields, forests, and towns until, seized by patrols or bands of rag-tag soldiers, they'd been brought to this fenced compound to be imprisoned in one of the barracks.

Now, standing naked, they helped one another to wash away grime and feel pleasure in being warm and clean.

However, the person at Florence's side was a child she knew well, one who had been in her care for six years. Marie was the eldest of three children of a farmer whose wife had died and who needed the help Florence was able to provide. Having lost her own parents and in need of a home, Florence was eleven years old when she came to live on that farm in Bulgaria.

There, she grew up, learned to be useful, and felt safe and secure.

But strife and uprisings, like those that had left her homeless, reached into the countryside, and one night a roving band torched the house and barn.

She shook Marie from her sound sleep, and they ran into the fields. They, alone, escaped and found places to hide and food enough to keep alive until they were captured and taken to the barracks.

"Eyes closed, head back," Florence said. As she poured water over Marie's hair, the child squirmed with delight.

She would have liked to promise Marie there would be better times ahead.

Together they had imagined another home, a place for Marie to feel safe.

Florence knew she could work and learn quickly to be useful.

Perhaps it would be in a hospital or an orphanage that she could make a home for them both.

Her visions of such places were vague, yet she believed there must be a way for them to live ordinary lives. Now as she finger-combed Marie's hair, she tried to sound confident.

"It will feel good to wear clean things, no matter if they don't fit. And they will take us someplace with clean pillows and sheets, a house where we can work for kind people. Maybe we can plant a garden."

"With a swing. And we'll always be together, won't we, Florence?"

"Yes, of course we will." She cupped the girl's pointed chin in her hand and looked into her solemn face, thinking how recent were the Marie's losses compared to her own. "Let's see how this fits," she said and slipped a jumper over Marie's head.

Florence had put on a sleeveless cotton shift, and her hair lay damp on her shoulders as she searched for a smock or shirt to wear over it. Suddenly a cold draft made her shiver, and she turned to see two soldiers in tunics standing in the wide open door and glaring at the women who frantically clutched towels or grabbed at the stack of clothing.

One man stepped forward and shouted the order to dress and be quick about it. They stomped out, slamming the door.

All warmth and pleasure swept away, women scrambled into whatever they picked up. Some pawed through piles of stockings and boots, grabbing anything that might keep them warm.

They had barely covered themselves in flimsy garments when the door again opened.

This time, while one man held the door, two others tramped in; each grabbed a girl and hustled her out. Those remaining shrank back as far as they could from the door. Two scrambled under the bench.

Florence snatched a shirt, wrapped it around Marie's shoulders, and held her close.

The door again flew open. Again, two men strode along opposite sides of the bench. One bent to peer under it and kicked at the girls who cowered on the wet floor. He ordered them out and dragged them away while his partner grabbed a third victim.

After the door slammed the others stood hugging themselves, listening to the crunch of coach wheels on gravel. In silence they resumed searching through the tumble of clean garments in desperate hopes of finding something more before it was their turn to be forced out into the cold.

"Maybe they won't come back for us," one said, but no one bothered to reply. Florence went to a window near the door and rubbed away the steam with the side of her hand.

"I don't see anyone at all, no soldiers anywhere."

Someone suggested things might return to normal for the rest of them, and they clung to the hope that they might return to a routine they were used to, grim as it was.

"Maybe we should just walk out of here," Florence said.

"The whole place looks deserted. The gate may even be open."

But the possibility of freedom was beyond imagining, and whatever waited outside the gates might be worse than scant meals and cold cots. And they knew any attempt to escape could bring terrible punishment.

Again they heard the horses' hooves and the coach's rattle, again saw the door open for three men, saw two advance quickly and wordlessly. One clamped a steely hand on Florence's arm and, with the other, wrenched Marie from her grasp and flung the child against the wall. Marie's eyes widened, her mouth opened, and Florence dug her fingernails into her captor's wrist.

His grip loosened, and dodging his other hand, Florence lunged toward Marie, but he had her again in a second and pinned her arms to her sides. Hoisting her across his shoulder, he lugged her out the door.

Marie's scream followed them, ringing in Florence's ears as she was dumped into a carriage and the door slammed shut. She and two others huddled together, shivering, as the coach lurched into a turn. After a brief ride, they jolted to a halt and the door swung open. A big hand extended to them from a loose white sleeve, and a tall man with a round face smiled at them. His black hair curled below a brimless red hat, and his teeth gleamed in a grin. He handed each of them down onto hard gritty stones and led the across a courtyard where dry stalks of plants rustled in the cold wind.

A gray stone building loomed before them, its walls pierced by narrow dimly lit windows. At the top of its crumbling steps, he opened a heavy door to a foyer lit by oil burning in sconces. After directing them to sit on a wooden bench against one wall, he left through a curtained doorway.

Florence saw the other captives sitting with their backs against the damp plaster, and she and the other two joined them. Across the room she saw a similar bench where six youths sat and stared at walls and floor. Florence folded her arms across her chest and pressed her legs together to conserve whatever heat her body might generate. After a long wait, three more of the women were brought in, but Marie was not among them, nor was the clubfooted girl. If only those two had been left behind, why? And to what fate?

She dared not think Marie was lost to her, that she might never find her. Beads of moisture gathered on her upper lip, and waves of nausea swept through her. Her saliva tasted of rusty metal, and her nostrils stung from the acrid oil smoke. A smell of laundry soap rose from the bodies wedged beside her own on the bench and from her own, too, and mingled with a sharp smell of fear. Where was Marie?

It seemed a very long time before steps sounded from behind the curtains in the archway. A second big man in a white caftan entered.

He kept one hand tucked inside a red sash that circled his big belly, and below his red cap his neck bulged in two fat tiers. His sharp eyes swept the room, and settled on the nubile boys. He surveyed them slowly and smirked as he spoke softly to one or two. Florence recalled hearing talk in the barracks about the soldiers "using" male captives. She didn't know how, but she could see loathing and distrust on the boys' faces.

He turned his appraising eye on the young women, looking each over from head to toe. Then he approached Florence, and his tongue flicked across his lower lip. She felt a cramp seize her belly as he bent forward, took her arm, and brought her to her feet. She stood on trembling legs while he looked at the others and gestured for three of them to stand. One whimpered, and he struck her cheek lightly, then drew back his hand and held it poised with the threat of another slap if she didn't stop.

Then he spun around, drew aside the curtain, and ordered the four he'd selected to enter a dim passageway in single file. Florence felt cold stone under her feet and then carpet.

At the far end, Florence saw a door open, and fragrant tobacco smoke floated toward them along with men's voices and laughter. The man pressed a fat hand on each one's shoulder, guiding them through the door and up three steps onto a podium. There he positioned them to face the room.

From under a harsh white light, Florence stared into a hall so vast its ceiling and back wall were lost in shadows. Smoke curled and drifted upward and circled the crimson and cobalt lamps that hung from the ceiling. The room was crowded with men, big men, standing and sitting, and even lounging on divans. Some wore dark suits, but more were clothed in loose garments that created a blur of rich colors as the wearers moved. Bright metal trays caught her eye, and she saw slender boys in white gliding among the men with trays that held little glass cups and slender glasses.

The clink of cups and glasses and rumble of voices came to her as if she were under water.

Bursts of laughter sounded evil, menacing and insidious. Florence recalled the smirk of the mercenary who had watched Marie as a trickle of urine ran down her leg that day when both were dragged from their last hiding place.

A gong sounded so close it reverberated in her queasy stomach. The room grew quiet. She clenched her hands and teeth in her struggle to control her quaking body.

The man with the red sash put a hand on a girl whose dark hair tumbled across her eyes, and he steered her to the front of the platform. Florence heard a voice call out one word again and again. Men in the hall shouted numbers, and suddenly she understood.

This was an auction, like one she'd seen in the country, where a stranger stood on a wagon, shouting as he sold cows and sheep and all the belongings of an old couple.

A gavel banged sharply on a table near her. The voices ceased calling out numbers, and the dark-haired girl was led away. The gong sounded; another girl was drawn to the front of the platform. Florence again heard the sing-song voice, again the numbers, and then the gavel striking. A broad hand pressed her shoulder, and she felt herself guided forward under the bright light. From behind came the auctioneer's chant:

"Lira, lira, lira."

She lifted her chin, focusing her teary gaze above the crowd, and tried to close her ears to the murmur and hiss of voices. Whatever was to come, she would endure.

* * *

When Samuel Baker strode into what must once have been the grand reception hall of this decaying mansion, the aroma of eastern tobacco and musky perfumes assaulted his senses. Smoke from oil lamps had permeated the faded brocade draperies and worn carpets, and it now hung in a pall close to the coffered ceiling. Ivory and silver patterns inlaid in the wood had been dulled by neglect, and Sam felt repelled by the Ottomans at the same time that he admired their designs and craftsmanship. In this tarnished elegance, forty or fifty men lounged on divans or sat around low tables, sipping from small cups. Many were robed in rich garments and wore turbans that indicated their fiefdoms, and as Sam's glance swept across the sleek and pampered men, he felt a deep aversion to them as well as to their corrupt society.

Looking sideways at his companion, Sam saw nothing like his own distaste but instead an avid glow.

In their three months of travel, Sam had grown weary of the priapic young man, irritated by his sensuality and callow tastes. It occurred to Sam that Singh, although a member of the British Empire had much in common with the Ottomans: this Prince of the Punjab was also a dark-skinned infidel. Although he wore a finely tailored Savile Row frock-coat and cravat, his white turban with its brilliant ruby signaled differences no Englishman could ever forget.

As Sam and Singh seated themselves on straight chairs, well apart from the infidels, Sam noted a stirring among the pashas; heads turned and dark-eyed glances swept the room and whispers were exchanged. However, the men in military dress who stood at the back of the room barely noted the presence of a westerner, and Sam drew a deep breath in relief. He removed his gloves and frowned at Singh, who was twisting his lithe body sideways ln his effort to survey the entire hall. When Sam scowled at him, Singh straightened his back and folded his hands, his lips twitching on the verge of a smile. Sam hoped Singh wouldn't give in to his usual nervous laugh.

Sam sat motionless, back straight and feet firmly planted.

He rested the palms of his hands lightly on his thighs trying not to reveal his aggravation. He would like to leap to his feet and shout out his contempt for the participants in this vile auction. In one glance he had assessed their avarice and lust, vanity and greed; they flaunted mankind's every weakness, but their worst transgression, buying and selling human flesh, was about to begin, and he had come to see it all first-hand.

A man in a white gallabiah was escorting to the platform a number of white girls on the brink of womanhood. A gong reverberated and the man in white raised a hand. The drone of voices died out. Servant boys with their copper trays vanished. The auctioneer, enormous in both height and girth, bowed to the men, and then turned to select a girl. With a fat hand gripping her shoulder, he drew her forward.

She hung her head, and her wild, dark hair obscured her face until the man's hand lifted her chin. The room was silent as he bent to whisper to her. She tossed her hair back and looked into his face for a moment, then turned away from him. With his hand on the back of her neck, he forced her to face the roomful of men. Sam understood only part of the man's spiel to the crowd, words about the need or the way to tame her. The men laughed and one offered a bid, others followed until a winner stood up, brandishing a handful of paper money. A smirking companion clapped a hand on the buyer's back.

A second young woman stood before the crowd, her shoulders hunched and arms folded across her chest. The man spoke to her and laced his fingers through her hair to yank her head back. Her sallow face was wet with tears. The crowd fell silent as the auctioneer coaxed their bids and finally sold her to the only bidder.

"Good God, Singh. I've seen about all I can bear of this. Let's leave now."

"One more, Sam. Just look at this next one. What a delicate little slave girl!"

Sam saw the smallest of the girls, a fragile looking one who could not be much older than Edith, his eldest daughter. The very thought of Edith in this place and time so distracted Sam that he missed the fat man's remark but judged from the crowd's response that it was lascivious.

The auctioneer turned her slowly around, revealing a loose plait of golden hair that reached to her waist. He lifted it, unbraided the strands, and ran them across his palm, and then turned her again to face the audience. Casting a sly smile at them, he bent over and, using his thumb and one finger in mock delicacy, lifted the hem of her skirt. He raised it slowly, and almost as one body, the men in the hall shifted like an enormous animal waking. Her lifted skirt revealed calves, knees, and the unexpectedly graceful curve of her thighs.

To his chagrin, Sam felt a stirring in his loins. His arousal, like the involuntary erections of his youth, embarrassed him.

He flexed his shoulders and leaned forward, resting his right arm on his knee, and with the back of his left hand lifted his beard and then stroked it down. It's this sordid place, he told himself, the room is steeped in carnality.

Her skirt again covered her, hanging loosely on her slim form. She stood rigid, her eyes unblinking as the auctioneer called for bids. Although her face was pale with terror, she held her chin high and kept her gaze fixed over the heads of the crowd, as if trying to will herself elsewhere. In that look Sam read both courage and purity, and he knew neither would protect her for long.

His own voice rang out, sounding in his ears like an echo, and he saw men's heads turn. He repeated his bid in Arabic. A competing voice called out a higher one. Sam doubled it, and the gavel sounded a single clap. In the ensuing silence, he rose from his chair. Singh, with his mouth slightly agape, stared as Sam brushed past him and snapped:

"Fetch the carriage."

Sam Baker strode down the side of the room now silent but for the quick thud of his boots striking the worn carpet. Near the platform's edge, a servant, half-concealed by a curtain, sat beside a money box lined with red velvet. There, the girl stood with hands clasped in front of her, and Sam avoided her eyes as he took his wallet from inside his coat, counted out Turkish lire and waited. The man closed the box, carefully wrote words and numbers on a paper, and gave it to Sam.

Still avoiding the girl's eyes, Sam took her firmly by the hand as he might a child of his own and led her to the back of the room. They passed two armed guards in the foyer and stepped out into the frosty night. Only then did he notice that her feet were bare, and he lifted her in his arms.

### Chapter 2

Duleep Singh stood wide-eyed, holding the door of the hired carriage. Sam settled the waif on the forward bench and seated himself across from her, next to Singh. He and shouted to the driver and slammed the door. As he tucked a fur robe around her, the girl remained silent, her steady gaze almost defiant. "We want to help you. Don't be afraid."

Her expression didn't change, and he spoke again, this time in German. She blinked and bit her lip, and he thought she understood. He reached under the robe and touched her icy foot, intending to rub it between his warm hands, but she jerked it back, her stare still unwavering. Folding his empty hands, he sat back in his seat.

" _Danke, danke shon_ ," she murmured.

"Incredible," Singh said. "Captain, you are astonishing!"

Sam snorted in mild scorn at that idea and turned toward the window to watch the snow falling from an iron gray sky. As he had expected, the weather was worsening and could trap them in this dismal town. And added to that, he may have committed a diplomatic gaffe that could lead to trouble. A confrontation with officials could be very embarrassing and inconvenient as well. How the Ottomans conducted their traffic in human lives was not really his business.

It bothered him that he had again been impetuous, had made regrettable choices, not unlike the one that resulted in this journey with this companion.

He had been a guest of his friend, the Duke of Atholl, at his lodge near Balmoral in the Highlands. Before the last day's hunt, Sam mentioned to someone that he always carried a knife as well as his rifle, and the fellow pressed him to demonstrate his skill. Sam could not resist the chance to indulge in a fairer combat; to close in with no firearm was always exhilarating.

The hounds were baying on the banks when he saw the stag standing in the rapids. Sam unsheathed his long knife and leapt into waist deep water. Before the dogs plunged in, Sam grasped the lowered antlers and, with all his strength, plunged the knife in below the shoulder, forcing it toward the heart. The warm blood poured over his hand, and as they fell together, he saw the stag's wild eye seek the sky. It was a clean kill.

Later in the lodge, firelight glinting on glasses of Port, the men made too much of it. Sam turned to talk with an Indian prince, who had not joined the hunt.

" _I am grateful to the Duke of Atholl," the young man said._

" _I have finished at Cambridge and shall return to my people."_

Sam would have liked to talk about the Punjab, for he had enjoyed his time there, but Atholl interrupted them.

" _I must say, Sam, Duleep attended to his studies with rather more zeal that I ever did. Now he ought take the Grand Tour, put a finish on his education, you know. What's wanting is a man of the world to show him about."_

" _That sounds 1ike just your sort of thing, George. You could see him off in style, have a splendid time of it, too."_

" _Perhaps so; however, tedious duties in the House prevent me." Atholl lowered his voice and drew Sam aside. "I hoped you might see your way clear to do me the turn. Singh had a fine time at University, but one can imagine the sort of places undergraduates carouse. Not like your own education in, ah, Salzburg, was it? I'll wager you never saw the likes of any Cambridge back streets."_

The Duke's hand remained on Sam's shoulder, its pressure a reminder that Atholl was accustomed to getting what he wanted.

" _He must learn to drink like a gentleman," the Duke confided, "You know people and places on the continent. See that he gets to enjoy a woman between clean sheets."_

" _It's been many years, my friend," Sam laughed, "I've lost touch with that life. However, you are persuasive, and I shall think on it."_

Sam didn't recall owing George a favor, but he remembered his years in a society less narrow than his own. Now at loose ends, with his dear wife in her grave, he couldn't endure being in the house in Devon. He surmised that his sister would rather he were elsewhere, too, as she learned to mother his daughters.

In the morning he gave the Duke his answer. He would introduce Singh to a bit of music and art, to friends in Paris, the Alsace. A wild boar hunt in the Black Forest and a hike in the Alps would do them both good, too.

Within weeks, Sam recalled, he had stood on the quay at Ostende among bulging leather bags and, at his side, the eager young prince. His decision was hasty, the tour long.

Singh strode through the Louvre ticking off the famous paintings. He detested the outdoors, preferring drawing rooms and boudoirs, and after numerous dalliances, he became enamored of the Countess Adrianna. On Christmas night in Vienna, while Singh drowsed through the opera, Sam decided to end the tour in Bucharest. But on the trip down the Danube, the boat broke up on the ice at the Iron Gates, stranding them here in this place where the weather didn't permit the boar hunt he had hoped for.

One morning while Adrianna slept and Singh lingered over coffee, Sam told him the tour was over, and he had ordered a carriage. The prince protested that the weather would improve, but Sam wouldn't argue, so after sulking a bit, Singh brightened and talked about a slave auction they could attend. Sam didn't doubt the truth of rumors of seraglios filled with war orphans and children taken as tax payments, and he told Singh it was a vile practice. But then, no more able to quell his curiosity than his outrage, Sam agreed to attend the auction.

Now here he was, responsible not only for two tiresome adults but for a child, a refugee from God knows where.

As the carriage halted in front of the hotel, Sam ceased his self-flagellation and directed the driver to take them to the tradesman's entrance. He rummaged his memory and found enough German to talk to the girl.

"We will go upstairs now and see that you are warm and comfortable. I will carry you, all right?"

The girl nodded and allowed him to gather her in his arms.

With Singh in the lead, Sam hurried inside and up the service stairway. When Singh opened the door to their suite, the Countess didn't stir from the cushions, but when Sam entered, she dropped her book into the folds of her red silk gown.

"Why, Sam, did you find a refugee on the doorstep?"

She turned to Duleep Singh. "What about the plan to leave? When you weren't back here at tea time, I quit packing."

"A thousand apologies, my lovely." Duleep took her hand and was about to lead her toward their chamber.

"Wait, wait, please," Sam pleaded, stepping toward the Countess with open hands outstretched.

"Surely you can help. This child speaks German. She is pitifully afraid of me and has no proper clothing."

The Countess Adrianna scarcely hesitated before giving Sam the warmest smile he'd ever seen on her haughty face. Then she pressed a hand firmly against his chest and swept past him.

"Of course! Where are my manners!" she said and took the girl by the hand.

" _Wie heissen sie, Liebchen?"_

"Florence," the girl replied as she was being led away. "Good lord, I never thought to ask her her name!"

Sam drew a deep breath and stared at the carpet for several minutes before going to pour a whiskey and to ring for dinner to be served in the suite. Taking his glass to a window, he stared out at snowflakes whirling down onto a deserted street.

* * *

Florence felt at ease immediately with this beautiful woman whom she assumed was the young man's wife. In her bed chamber the Countess Adrianna spoke to her in German, then French, when Florence explained that her parents often spoke French with their guests, and she had been tutored in it.

"But we were, I am—Hungarian."

Adrianna then spoke to her then in Magyar, and the sounds, familiar to her since her early childhood, brought Florence close to tears.

"I lived with Rina for a while, after Mother died."

Adrianna pulled garments from her closet, gowns and suits for Florence to try on, talking all the while. Florence asked about the sad and dignified English man who spoke German. She wondered but dared not ask what had brought these three people together and why they were here, so far from the fine homes she knew they must have. The Countess said to call her Adrianna and explained how to address the Captain and the Count.

"We call him 'Captain' only when he doesn't want his name known. He is Samuel Baker, a gentleman. He won't mind if you call him Sam. Duleep Singh is not a count but a prince."

"I thought he would be a Count. My father was a Baron and Mother a Baroness. I thought."

"Quite logical, my dear, but that is not how we are. Now do take a good look at yourself before we go out."

Florence could hardly believe what she saw in the mirror. Then Adrianna flung open the door and, pressing her hand at the center of Florence's back, steered her into the sitting room.

"Gentlemen, I present our guest, Florence, who has agreed to dine with us!"

The men looked at her, stared at her. She didn't know what to say. Maybe they didn't either. She wondered why they would have any interest in her.

"Florence is Hungarian," Adrianna announced.

"She also understands some French, as well as German."

* * *

Sam now saw before him not a waif, but a lovely woman. The burgundy gown lent color to her cheeks, and when she smiled, her green eyes shone. Pleasing as she appeared, the change was unsettling. He was disquieted, too, by the way the Countess watched him, gauging his reactions. Until now he'd believed her blissfully unaware of anyone but herself. He had underestimated her and saw no graceful way to apologize.

Sam bowed to them and then busied himself moving the chairs into a circle so they could talk comfortably with their guest. For several minutes they sat in silence; then Sam and Adrianna spoke simultaneously, which caused a ripple of tension-breaking laughter. After that they each in turn fell to a questioning that Sam felt must make the girl feel as if she were facing some kind of official examination. Such a barrage of questions from strangers could surely distress a child, yet she seemed not to mind, but responded thoughtfully. She spoke slowly, sometimes looking to Adrianna for a translation.

They learned that her father had to leave them because a war was going to happen. After that there were shouts and guns being loud in the street.

Her mother and the maid packed, and they left Debrecen in their coach to go to the mountains. But in the dark the coach tipped over and her mother was killed.

Some time later she was sent to a farm in Wallachia and lived in a farmer's house, helping his mother take care of his children.

"How many children?" Sam asked.

"Marie was four years, and Peter and the baby."

Adrianna asked her age. Florence said she was nine or ten when she went to the farm and added that she liked the farm.

But then it burned down. Only she and Marie got out.

"Nobody else – and so we ran and hid for a while. But then some soldiers found us. And this morning I left Marie behind."

This last was said in a whisper, and her eyes filled with tears. Adrianna stood up and took her hand and led Florence to the window and put an arm around her.

* * *

Florence felt she might cry forever, if she let herself start, and was glad for the quiet comfort the Countess seemed to be offering. This was the first time she had talked about the fire and those long ago matters, and in the telling, as in her dreams, it all came back—the shouts and gunfire, the shattering glass and flaming curtains . She wanted to tell more about Marie so they'd know why she must find her. Marie had cried every day at first and now just in her sleep. But now she was too tired to talk and didn't want to cry.

There was a knock on the door, and she and Adrianna turned away from the window. Florence saw men in white coats wheel in carts. They opened out the table and covered it with white cloth. They laid out silver and plates from the carts, and then platters and bowls of steaming food and bottles of wine. She hadn't seen so much food since the Holy Days on Mateos' farm.

And then Sam Baker came to her side and smiled as he took her arm to lead her to a chair. When they sat around the table, the aroma of the roast beef on its platter of golden juice made her stomach hurt. Singh poured the wine and Sam spoke to him softly, and the three lifted their glasses and looked at her.

Adrianna smiled and explained that they were honoring her, it was the custom. Florence thanked them and saw that she, too, had a glass that sparkled as if on fire.

The wine slipped down her throat and warmed her stomach. Candle flames shown on glass and silver and cast soft light on the faces around the table. Beyond this circle, the world was cold and dark. Tears blurred her vision as she looked across the table at Sam and saw her father's deep-set eyes and curly beard. He smiled at her.

She cut a sliver of beef, but her throat constricted, and her dress prickled her hot moist skin.

A sip of wine washed down the piece of beef. After that she took very small portions of vegetables and could swallow them. They tasted good.

After the waiters had again come and gone and Adrianna and Singh retired, Sam pulled his chair to face hers. Looking into her eyes, he began to talk.

"I wish to explain things in my terrible German. I did not come there to take part in the auction. I came to observe what I knew to be a barbaric custom. When I saw you, I knew I must rescue you, make you safe. I could not let the Turks take you."

"I didn't think you would harm me. But I didn't know why – do not know why you took me. I am grateful to you, that you bought me."

"Not bought, ransomed. You belong to yourself, and your soul to God."

"Thank you," she said, hesitating, and then she blurted out what she must say: "I worry about Marie. I promised her we'd be together. She cried out to me. I couldn't get back to her."

Now her tears would not be held back, and she took the handkerchief Sam was pressing into her hand and tried to stifle her sobs.

"I am her only family. Please, help me find her."

"We'll try. We'll see to it in the morning. Now you must sleep."

He busied himself with bedding a chambermaid had delivered, arranging it on a divan in an alcove off the sitting room. Then he made the room private for her by closing the heavy curtains.

"May you sleep well, Florence," he said with a slight bow.

In the dark she took off the beautiful dress and laid it on a chair. The couch was soft, and she soon had to give up trying to think and fell into a deep sleep. She awoke once thinking she saw Marie's face and heard her voice, and she resolved not to leave Widdin without her. She slept again until the morning light crept across the walls. When she awoke she felt confident that Sam would keep his word.

They would find Marie. But then what? Would he take them both along wherever it was they meant to go?

Sounds from the sitting room signaled time to wash and put on the travel clothing Adrianna had given her. She slipped into a silk shift and warm skirts, rolling over the waistband to lift the hems above her shoe tops. As she fumbled with twenty-some buttons on the jacket, Adrianna parted the portieres.

"I hope you slept well. I have a shawl here, to go with the suit. And these stockings, two pair will make those boots fit better."

"I cannot thank you enough, Adrianna."

"You already have, Florence, I have more than I need. Now my bags will hold new gowns. Hurry now to your breakfast."

In the sitting room, a mound of luggage waited at the door, and Singh was adding to it. A sleepy-eyed waiter brought their breakfast, and Adrianna was at the table filling the large cups. While the fragrance of coffee and hot bread permeated the room, Adrianna lifted the pot in one hand, a milk pitcher in the other and poured from both so that the two streams joined in a steamy rope before reaching the cup.

"I've never seen anyone pour coffee so!"

Adrianna laughed but Singh looked cross, and Florence guessed that this early departure did not please him. Adrianna frowned at him and nodded her head toward Florence, and he then mumbled a brief good-morning in Florence's direction before taking his coffee cup to a chair near the fire.

Sam came in looking cheerful and reported the arrival of the carriage and draymen who were ready to load the bags. Florence waited for him to savor his coffee.

"Excuse me, Sam, we are to look for Marie, are we not? Please?"

"That's first on our itinerary. We'll do what we can."

He seemed preoccupied with other thoughts and did not look into her eyes as he had when he made the promise. She noticed that when Sam spoke to her, Singh paid attention, and now he sat up and appeared to be challenging Sam. She could not follow their rapid exchange in English, but Sam's frown and clenched teeth worried her.

* * *

"Surely this is folly," Singh said. "You cannot think you have any right to interfere with the Ottomans."

"I have every right to make any inquiries I choose," Sam replied. "They have in their custody an orphan child who was brought here against her will."

"But yesterday you participated in their trade. It was a tacit stamp of approval on their handling of refugees."

"That may be one way to look at it. However, I have no intention of arguing the point with the Saracens."

"You may not be able to avoid it if you stir up more trouble."

"Are you quite finished?" Sam moved closer to Singh, and tilting his head toward Florence, asked in a low voice, "Are you not aware of the consternation you may be causing right here in this room?"

Singh put down his cup and twisted his hands together and didn't look up as Sam continued.

"You are not obliged to be part of anything I choose to do. If you decide to stay here, Duleep, you had better retrieve your luggage."

"I ask your pardon, Sam, I have overstepped my bounds."

"Apology accepted."

With luggage secured on the roof and strapped on the back, the coach creaked and groaned over the cobblestones. Sam had settled himself beside Florence and put a fur robe across her knees. She looked ready to sleep, and seated across from them, Adrianna and Singh were already asleep.

They passed through deserted streets and soon reached the neglected courtyard of the shabby auction palace. On a stone bench an old man held his face up to the sun with closed eyes, his hand working a set of prayer beads. He must have heard the carriage but gave no sign before Sam sprang to the ground and called out.

" _Ahlan wa Sablan."_

The man rose slowly and shuffled toward Sam with a toothless smile, yet he did not speak until Sam put money in his hand. Then he answered Sam's questions.

"The watchman or grounds-keeper says he's the only one here. They've all gone, packed up and left last night. He knows nothing more."

"So that is that," Singh said with a satisfied smile.

"No, it's not." Sam put his hand on Florence's. "We'll try the garrison. He said it's not far from here, told me how to reach it."

* * *

Florence had not held hopes for the auction place and was not discouraged, yet when the carriage halted before the army post, a wave of despair assailed her. The grounds were deserted and buildings looked empty. She wondered how it was possible that in only twenty-four hours everyone could disappear. Beyond the sagging gates were the barracks where she'd slept, and she could see doors were bolted and windows shuttered.

Sam leapt from the carriage and pushed the metal gate farther open. He pounded his fists on doors of one desolate building after another and shouted from time to time as he walked through the compound, peering into sheds. His head was lowered as he tramped slowly back to the coach.

"This place is completely abandoned. If it weren't for the garbage heaps, I would find it hard to believe anyone had been here in years."

Florence closed her eyes and swallowed hard to keep from crying. Then she summoned her courage and looked at Sam's face and, seeing only defeat, tried to think where she could begin to search, how she might find Marie by herself.

"I can't go with you, Sam. I can't go without Marie. Please, just take me back to- to the center of town."

"That's not possible, and not sensible at all. I'm sorry I've failed you. I understand what finding Marie means, but I can scarcely imagine how it feels. However, you cannot stay here or you'll be picked up, and Florence saw he would not say it, but she knew she would have little chance for anything but misery and less chance of finding Marie."

"We must at least leave a name with someone so they can find us, so they know she is being sought!"

"Yes, of course, my dear, that I have already done."

Sam didn't look at her and seemed agitated. Singh stared at him through narrowed eyes and turned toward the window. Adrianna reached over, put her hand on Florence's and said she was sorry.

" _Liebchen, es tu m r leid."_

### Chapter 3

The carriage rolled away from Widdin on a wide gravel road. Adrianna and Singh fell asleep at once; Florence slumped into the corner and seemed to be sleeping. Only Sam remained alert. When they passed the blackened ruins of a country church and a battered house, its door agape and windows broken, Sam thought it might well be the place Florence described, where she and Marie were captured. He felt guilty for deserting Marie and grieved for all the miserable victims of political upheaval.

He regretted lying to Florence and hoped some day she would understand why they could not stay in Widdin, dared not leave a name and address. He never doubted all local officials were jealous guardians of authority and likely to take offense at any foreign incursion. But they might retaliate for a loss of property, even though he'd paid them well for Florence. Even worse, the Turks might suspect a British plot to impede their trade. Their immediate departure was the only course.

As they traveled along the south side of the Danube, Sam watched for a bridge where the guards might not find reason to question or detain foreigners. At noon he saw a small garrison near a bridge with a sentry box beside a striped red and yellow gate that barred the road.

A sentry in a red coat paced from one side of the road to the other beside the barrier. In his fancy coat, he looked like a character in a comic opera.

The coach slowed and Florence and Adrianna stirred and opened their eyes. Sam leaned toward them with his forefinger to his lips.

"Don't move! Be asleep."

He stepped out of the coach, and the driver climbed down, winked at Sam, and went off to relieve himself. The sentry had halted a few feet away, watching Sam take the leather passport case from a pocket inside of his coat and fold some currency into the case. The sentry had bright eyes and the rosy cheeks of a country boy, and Sam smiled warmly at him as he handed over the case and asked in a low voice if it would be necessary to disturb his family.

"My wife and daughter," he said, gesturing toward the carriage door. "They haven't been very well. Long journeys are hard on women. I would rather not disturb them, but if you wish, I'll wake the young gentleman who is traveling with us."

The sentry leaned sideways to peer into the coach. He saw pretty faces of sleeping women, and he shook his head, saying he did not need to disturb them.

"If you will vouch for the Turk, sir, that will be good enough, too." He returned Sam's papers after only a glance and went to the pulley to raise the barrier.

Across the bridge, the road took them away from the Danube and northeast across the Wallachian Plain. They were all awake now and inclined to talk as they looked to their at the Carpathians' snowy peaks.

In answer to Singh's questions, Sam talked about the shifting allegiances in the region's history. It was but a decade ago that the British had aided Turkey in defeating Russia, while Russia had helped Austria crush the Hungarian revolt.

"But, now Austria wants influence in Romania, which is under Russia's protection."

Sam did not point out the ironies in their fleeing to territory protected by his country's former enemy, and which had also had helped to defeat Florence's Hungary. His companions didn't care as deeply for history or political alignments as he did, and he saw they were ready to drift off to sleep again, and he leaned back and closed his eyes.

He had much on his mind and resumed mulling over his situation and his relentless desire to be in action. Tiresome as this whole trip had become, he wasn't eager to return to England. And he had never meant to stay on the tea plantation.

There, as well as in India, he had served his country's needs as well as his own and would proudly do so again. Now he longed for the truly great adventure, the one he had made some moves to join yet none of them had worked out. He had not been given a part in the explorations now taking place in Africa. Africa!

The last great mystery, the last grand opportunity for a supreme adventure. He knew must go there, must help open it to commerce and Christianity, and more importantly, he remembered his early dream of finding the source of the Nile.

It rankled him that his ideas failed to impress the Royal Geographic Society, especially since they again were sponsoring John Hanning Speke, whose first try had ended so disastrously. And then Livingstone wanted only tradesmen, as if he were merely a sportsman! He had tamed a jungle with help only from natives he had trained. He knew chemistry and botany; possessed skills that would help him meet any challenge and survive anywhere.

Now he thought he could set up his own expedition; however, since such an endeavor could last for years, he must find a suitable companion.

Meanwhile, a suitable home for this poor young woman who had suffered so much must be found first. Though he wanted to end the tour in Bucharest, he saw that Adrianna could help Florence as only a woman could. If she would help him, he could put up with Singh. Sam knew how to compromise, when he had to.

* * *

At dawn Florence awoke to the thud of boots striking the floorboards and the rattle of harnesses in the courtyard. She came out of her room and smelled tobacco and lotion, telling her Sam had gone down to breakfast. When she came to the table, he rose part way from the bench to greet her. He directed her to serve herself at the sideboard and looked on with approval when he saw her plate of fresh bread and hot sausages. He indicated that they need not wait for Singh and Adrianna.

He explained, "They prefer sleep over food at this hour. But you and I shall sensibly stoke up for the journey."

The eastern sky grew faintly pink as the coach creaked and lumbered out of the courtyard. Sam pulled a book from the sack at his feet and read, despite dim light and the sway and lurch of the coach. Florence watched Adrianna and Singh fall asleep, and her eyes grew heavy, too, and she drifted off to sleep. In mid-day the coach halted, and they alit, eager to tramp about on the turf. A low stone wall in the meadow served as a table, and the hamper yielded biscuits and bread, hard cheese and apples. The innkeeper included a bottle of local wine, too, and they shared it with their coachman.

Back on the road, they passed stands of evergreens among meadows and arable fields, and gazed at shadows the clouds made moving across the foothills and mountain crests afloat on s veil of mist. The carriage splashed through streams and rumbled across wooden bridges above black waters carrying chunks of ice toward the Danube. Occasionally they saw farm buildings or flocks of sheep, the only signs of life on the endless plain.

On nights that followed, their rooms were in similar inns of stone or rough timber built around courtyards. They ate hot suppers and hearty breakfasts and slept in fairly good beds while their horses were stabled and fed. Sam never commented on the food though Adrianna sometimes drew back as a plate of stew was set before her. After their supper, Singh picked up a bottle of wine and led Adrianna up the stairs.

For Florence, sleeping in a room all by herself was a pleasure. Sam reminded her to bar her door and then went out for a walk.

On the long afternoons in the coach, Florence heard about Sam's life in Ceylon, where despite hardship and disasters, he apparently relished it all: The jungle was teeming with tigers, snakes, strange birds. Vines snared them, and underbrush grew as fast as they cut it away. They had to fight stinging insects and pull workers from mire. Many stories made them laugh, and to some Sam appended any lesson it had taught him.

"It's no more sensible to be angry with a pair of monkeys for laying waste to your kitchen than to blame a puppy." Florence could picture him laughing at monkeys and dogs as well as the children occupying his house. If a wild animal came too close to the houses, he and his brother drove them away or killed them. Other times the men went into the jungle just to hunt and kill. Florence asked what he did with a dead tiger or an elephant.

"Oh, well, I'd throw it over my shoulder and take it home, and then—

"Enough, Sam!" Adrianna interrupted. "No details of dead creatures! Spare us any more."

"All right, but Florence asks a serious question. Their hides are valuable, horns and tusks, too, and often the meat is edible. The bearers took care to dispose of everything wisely."

Sam urged Duleep Singh to talk about India, but the prince protested that he'd been just a boy when he left home. When Sam mentioned his own time there, Singh didn't respond, and Adrianna kept her eyes lowered, hiding whatever their blue depths held. Florence wondered if, for some reason, Adrianna did not want to hear about Singh's home.

Hoping to see her smile again, Florence asked how she knew Hungary and spoke Magyar.

"I lived there for a few years, my dear, well before the rebellion. Can you tell us about that time, about your father and mother?"

"No. I was young and Father sent us away when he went to war, to make Hungary free."

"Ah yes, that is a reason for war, always!" Singh said.

"Not always; as a matter of fact, wars are often about property and trade," Sam shot back and then turned to Florence. "Your father worked for unity or reform, perhaps?"

"I don't know. Men came and talked at night in our library. One evening one came alone when we were in our chapel. Father went away with him. Mother said we must pray. She cried and she and Rina packed bags and we left."

"Sam, she's talking about the attack on the Hungarian capital in Debrecen in '49, isn't that right, Florence?"

Florence nodded, meaning only that it was the place, and perhaps the time. She could see that Adrianna and Sam knew what had happened in her homeland.

"And you went to Transylvania, Florence?"

"Yes. To Rina's home in the mountains. Then the coach turned over."

Adrianna reached across to lay her hand on Florence's hands, which were knotted in her lap. There was silence in the coach as the shadows of the trees grew long and the sun sank behind them.

In her bed that night, Florence tossed restlessly. All day as they'd raced across the land, words had filled the coach and strewn the road with endless strings of sounds, most of which meant nothing to her. She could no more decipher them all than she could comprehend her place in the world. Somewhere Marie was alone, and Florence would never see her again, of that she now felt certain. The cold truth left her unable even to cry. Finally she slept.

In the dark, a coach rocked and clattered over a mountain.

It threw her first against Mother, then against Rina. A great jolt tumbled them over and over, until the coach cracked open and spilled everyone, everything, on a rock-strewn mountainside. She crawled around, found Mother, and slept. Morning came but Mother did not wake, and men carried her to a wagon. She sat on a horse, her face against a man's rough back, and she cried and cried and could not stop.

Florence opened her eyes and saw the window above her bed pale with morning's light, but she still saw her mother lying on the rocky ground and heard her whispering, "Morning will come." Florence hoped it would be all right, but morning had come, and it brought no comfort, not then, not now. She closed her eyes and waited to hear footsteps on the stairs and the rattle of harnesses in the inn yard.

### Chapter 4

Bucharest

On the afternoon of the fifth day, Bucharest rose from the plain, and Florence pressed her face to the window. When they entered the city, she gaped at the sights right and left as the coach rolled along broad streets. At intersections uniformed men blew whistles and gestured at the carriages, and on some streets coaches stopped and handsomely dressed people got out. Women in furs paused at shop windows to look at displays of gloves and bonnets.

Their carriage stopped at the portal of an ornate stone building, and a doorman in gold braid and a shako reached to take Florence's hand. It reminded Florence of the servant at the auction, and she drew back. Sam hopped down and reached to hand her down himself and, with a hand at her elbow, escort her through bronze and etched glass doors into the hotel lobby. He kept her at his side as he spoke across a counter to a man with a thin mustache, and in a minute, half a dozen blue-shirted men swooped down, picked up their baggage, and disappeared with it.

Singh and the Countess were behind them at the desk, and now two attendants led them all up stairs and down a broad, carpeted corridor where mirrors and bouquets alternated with paneled doors.

One of the men held open a door for Sam and Florence, and inside she beheld a most elegant room. On the pale green walls, gas lights glowed in sconces shaped like bronze lilies. The carpet, also pale green, was soft as a pillow. On opposite sides of the room doors opened on bed chambers, and as she walked into the room she saw needlepoint gardens and ladies in swings on chairs and on cushions that lay on the tapestry sofas. At the far end of the room glass-paned doors opened on a balcony with an iron balustrade. From there she looked out on a tree's bare branches quivering in the cold twilight and caught her breath.

Neither she nor Sam had spoken since the doors closed, and as she stared out at the gardens, she wondered if he saw it the ways she did. Although she sensed he was standing near her, it was startling when he rested a hand on her shoulder and sighed.

"We are in the wrong season, my dear, all is dormant."

Florence could imagine the garden in springtime – trees and flowers in bloom, yet its beauty was breathtaking now, and Sam's tone perplexed her. Turning, she saw that a wry smile pulled at a corner of his mouth.

"Dormant, yes, but making itself ready for spring," she said softly and turned again to the window. "I think everything is very beautiful now."

"Everything," he agreed.

"I am fortunate to be here, Sam, and grateful to you. But how can I repay you? Can you tell me what am I to do with my life?"

"Please, Florence, I don't expect anything from you while I take care of you. We've no need to rush toward the future. We must allow time to acquaint you with the city- and with me."

"I'm not used to being taken care of, Sam. I know how to work, be useful. I have a few skills. I learn quickly."

"Dear child, there is no hurry! I have not taken you on as a servant. Allow yourself be taken care of for a bit; trust me. You have been through terrible times, and I mean to help you. I would hope to restore your spirits, see to your wardrobe, and perhaps teach you to enjoy life again."

"I'm sorry to question so much — to seem impertinent."

"Don't apologize. We shall, in time, talk about all manner of things. But now you need food and rest, and I must talk with Singh. I'll have your supper sent up. Perhaps Adrianna will join you."

He patted her shoulder and left the suite just as Adrianna came to suggest Florence come out with her in the morning to shop for clothes.

"I must go now. I like to keep my eye on the prince, you know," she said, with her little laugh that sounded to Florence like notes of the scale.

Florence did not at all mind being left alone. She was hungry and enjoyed the food, but she was also happy for the chance to explore the elegant rooms. The long windows, the deep carpets, the soft lights all called up her childhood, and she saw her mother in blue silk, seated at a piano, and her hands crossing over each other as they stroked the keys. She recalled a piano lesson and one of its melodies, and she hummed phrases of an "Ode to Joy" as she strolled through the rooms, admiring a crystal inkwell on the writing table and a painting of pretty ladies in a garden.

In Sam's room the bedcover was a vibrant maroon, and his bags lay unopened on a bench in his dressing room. In the room she could not believe was hers, the bed had a silky white cover and some little pillows, all a pale sea-green satin covered with white lace. She turned back the covers and stroked the sheets.

Later she slipped naked between those smooth sheets and remembered how she lovely it felt to climb into the big bed Rina had prepared for her, a bed she would have been sharing with her mother. She remembered sitting on its edge, safely enjoying a moment of creature comfort before falling into the vast unknown where she would make her life.

Smoke stung her nostrils / caught in her throat / smothered her scream. Her gown weighed on her limbs / dragging her down as she stumbled and crawled over rough boards and heaps of shoes. Somewhere in the dark Marie screamed a single piercing note.

Florence sat up in bed, sweating and panting. She pushed back the comforter. Her head swam as she set her feet on the carpet. Smoke still floated above the guttering lamp, and she steadied herself with one hand on the bedside table and with the other felt for the small brass knob. She turned it and the yellow flame flared, and she eased it down until it was a blue petal edged in white.

She pulled a quilt from the mound of bedding and, drawing it around her shoulders, crept into the sitting room.

Moonlight lay in a trapezoid on the carpet, and the door opposite hers stood open. She listened for the sound of Sam's breathing, and hearing nothing, crossed a rectangle of moonlight and listened again. She was alone and felt both relieved and disappointed. She couldn't have spoken had he been there, yet she yearned for the sound of a real voice to dispel her dream. When she returned to bed, she left the lamp burning and stared at the walls.

Later she heard steps, voices, and a key in the lock. She turned out the lamp and held her knuckles to her mouth as steps crossed the sitting room and a door clicked shut.

The day awoke her with bright sunlight and the clink of dishes on a tray. From the marble and mahogany wash stand she took the china chamber pot and sat tight on its cold edge. She released her stream slowly so as not to be heard and, after she washed, poured soapy water into the pot and covered it. She brushed her hair, braided it and wound it in a coronet. At the moment she stepped into the sitting room, Sam in his dressing robe appeared in the opposite doorway. His shirt collar lay open, and his beard was dark with water, his cheeks taut and shiny along their freshly shaven edges. It occurred to her that they had performed similar private acts simultaneously, and for some reason she wanted to laugh.

She wondered if he felt as constrained as she did, and she considered how such matters might be between man and wife. Did they sleep in one bed? Did they see one another use a chamber pot? Did they sponge one another's backs as she and Marie had done?

She knew so little about her parents, and in Madteos' house there were only his children and his mother. How did a man and woman behave?

"Good morning, Florence. I didn't hear you up."

Feeling he'd read her mind, she blushed as she poured both coffee and steamy milk into the wide cups, just as Adrianna had done, two streams meeting and blending above the cups.

They smiled at each other, passing a basket of warm breads or a plate of sliced oranges, and made small talk about food and the portent of the brilliant sunshine. Words came more easily, gestures more familiar, and a slight frown or shake of the head asked the other to rephrase or repeat. Though Sam's German was adequate, idioms often eluded him, and he retreated to painfully formal speech. At times he tried French, but not knowing that she'd been taught it as a very young child, he overestimated her ability.

"Today we must go out, see something of the city, find good shops. You need a whole wardrobe."

"I think Adrianna won't want this dress back."

"Correct. She said to give you her best wishes. As did Singh. They have chosen to spend the day by themselves and hoped you would not mind postponing your shopping trip."

"Oh, no, of course not."

"They mentioned going on to Constantinople, but I discouraged them, selfishly, for I believe she can be very helpful to you. I know so little about women's clothing."

"Ah, you mean how to shop for me? I know nothing. I've never even seen such shops as those we passed. And so many of them!"

"Don't worry, the Countess knows everything."

Florence looked forward to being with Adrianna, but hoped she would not have to see much of Singh. He seemed bored by her, condescending, maybe even disapproving.

After breakfast Sam took Florence for a walk to explore the streets near the hotel.

A more specific aim was to find shoes and a warm cloak for her. In shop where Florence saw a display of underclothes, Sam said a few words to a sales-woman and went out. He returned half an hour later and paid for the purchases so discreetly she scarcely saw the transaction. After they had bought a cloak and shoes, she wore them as she strolled with Sam along broad avenues and admired stone buildings with carved cornices and lintels. At a restaurant facing a small park, they were seated at a table with a view, and Florence told him how she admired the very stones of the streets.

"They're fitted together on streets and walks as carefully as in the buildings. I've never seen such care given to roads," she said and blushed for being naive.

In the days that followed, Florence followed Adrianna from one shop to another, astounded by the number of places and varieties of clothing. They tried on gowns of fine fabrics and gloves of silky leather.

It was a great deal of trouble to go to, yet Adrianna obviously loved it, laughing often and buying what seemed to Florence an excessive quantity of things to wear. When Adrianna finally tired, they stopped in a pastry shop for pretty sweets and tiny cups of strong coffee.

Another day when Adrianna wanted to be with the prince, Sam suggested to Florence that she go out on her own. He gave her a leather purse and assured her she could ask the sales people to help her with the currency. Despite his obvious confidence in her, Florence protested.

"I have a roomful of clothes!"

"There must be something Adrianna missed. Besides that, you need the experience."

"That's true. I need to learn such things."

She knew she must go and thought of it as a test. In the evening she returned the purse and brought out a coarse brown dressing gown and felt slippers. When Sam saw them, he stood up, threw down the purse, and strode to the window where he stood with his back to her.

"I can take them back."

"Of course you can, Florence," he sighed and turned to her with a sad expression. "I was trying to understand why you have chosen things that are ugly and unsuitable."

"I'm sorry. I'll return them tomorrow."

"I don't want you to apologize, but to understand." He took the robe from her hands and tossed it aside. "You are never to buy anything ugly, never to wear anything ugly. I suspect you wanted to be thrifty, and you need never do that either!"

"I am sorry. I will return them tomorrow." Her face and ears burned, and she picked up the robe to take it to her room. But Sam caught her arm.

"I am not angry with you, my dear. Let me try to explain why I responded so inappropriately." He steered her to the settee and sat beside her with his hand on her arm.

"Though distressing to tell, there are things about me that will help you forgive my chastising you."

Florence waited, not having an idea of what he might say. He began with his gaze fixed at some point beyond her shoulder, as if reading the words in the air.

"I married a parson's daughter. She knew little of the world and less of fashion, and understood thrift to be a virtue. She bore and reared our children in an outpost where I did very little to make her domestic life easy. Too many children, too far from home, from her sisters." He lowered his head and sighed, "This is quite difficult."

As startling as the revelations was his unexpected wish to tell them to her. But Florence soon recognized his futile regret and was moved by his sorrow. She laid a hand on his arm. "We were still young when two of our sons died and later a daughter was stillborn. Three healthy girls were our solace, but when my wife knew another child was expected, she seemed to lose all strength, all cheer. Belatedly, I recognized the toll these years had taken. I took her home, a long voyage around the cape, and in England she gave birth to another daughter. To speed her recovery, I took her to the clear, dry air of the Pyrenees, and there she caught typhoid and died.

"I knew I had failed her most dreadfully, culpably. During our life together, I'd been blind, selfish. I failed to provide a life it was well within my means to give."

"Surely not. You must have shared in decisions and in the adventures, too. It could not have been so bleak as you now think. You must be forgetting the good parts."

"Had we stayed in England, she would not have died."

"Maybe, but you cannot know that. She must have been happy, with the children. And you loved her."

"Thank you, Florence, for hearing this and being kind. But I know."

He stood, retrieved the purse, put it in her hand, and held her hand in both of his.

"Buy quality, Florence, good fabrics and workmanship are essential, and elegant. It is never, never extravagant to pay for beauty."

He looked relieved as he took her shoulder and faced her, and suddenly he smiled broadly. "And I hope never to see you in brown. I know that sounds trivial, but it's such a dull color." Florence smiled and watched him go to the console table and pour two sherries.

"I have engaged an English tutor to come every morning at nine. At three, a seamstress will be here to measure you for a summer wardrobe. Now you must excuse me. Sleep well."

Florence had much to think about. She understood that she had bought something because it was cheap, but why did it lead to his blaming himself for the past, for everything he'd done, or not done? He had surely learned and changed, or else he'd not have spoken so. She now realized that no matter what he said, when she told him she was grateful, he did like it. She must find ways to make him believe it.

* * *

Alone in his room, Sam stood for several minutes with his back against the door.

He felt foolish for scolding her and more so for blathering on about himself. If he'd astonished himself, what could this stoic young girl have made of his maudlin revelations? She seemed to understand, yet what could she know of his life?

It occurred to him that in relating how he'd behaved toward his wife, he may have implied a comparison between her and his wife. And it shamed him that he'd clearly been seeking her good opinion and promising to treat her better than he had Harriett. He hadn't considered such implications. This young woman, in all innocence, inspired such trust that he had acted and spoken impetuously. He'd scolded when he should have instructed, and then instead of apologizing, had solicited her sympathy. So much for being master of any situation.

Sam moved about his room, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his collar. He emptied his pockets on the dresser, and coins scattered on the floor, where he left them. He poured a few fingers of whiskey into a glass and sighed.

Merciful God! Why was he pondering his motives? It was high time for him to get back to an active life, to a worthy routine. He had, after all, a purpose. He must no longer defer setting his course for Africa. He had delayed too long.

### Chapter 5

Florence had gone to bed happy that Sam confided in her. It made her feel less a burden to him and, though not really a friend, a person who might understand. Maybe it helped him to say what he felt just as telling him things helped her to endure the loss of Marie and to retain hope for the useful life she had promised they'd find. During the journey, Sam had told her about a nurse who went to Crimea during the war and showed people that women could take care of wounded men, that nursing was a respectable occupation for a woman.

And after the war she taught other women in a London hospital. And _her_ name was Florence, too.

At breakfast, Sam spoke of his plans to see someone about two English men named Barkley, brothers who were building a railroad across Europe.

"From what I've gathered, construction is under way. The men's father was someone my father knew and respected."

Florence didn't ask questions even though she was curious about Sam's interest in railways. And he had never before mentioned his father either. So she said nothing, and he rose suddenly from the table.

"I had almost forgotten your tutor will be here this morning. I hope you like him. He comes well recommended."

"I'm sure I will. I'm eager to have the lessons, Sam. Thank you."

"Not at all. I expect to be away all day."

Mr. Morley arrived punctually at ten, bringing several books, including German and English dictionaries. He was a young man with warm brown eyes and an easy smile, and his lessons seemed to Florence to be very useful. They consisted in practical conversations travelers might very well have and included information about places she would like to see. He had studied in England and had traveled all over the continent. And he encouraged her with his smiles and nods when she spoke.

At noon as they said goodbye in her doorway, she saw Adrianna and Singh come up the stairs, and she waved to them. "Ah, that must have been your professor we met just now." Adrianna said. "He's quite handsome."

"And most interesting. Why don't you both come in? We can have lunch sent up. I am starving!"

"You look as if you've enjoyed your lesson. And I'd love to have lunch with you. Duleep has promised to meet Sam at a men's club."

"Such a club is not my invention," Singh assured them. "Will you offer me a sherry with you ladies before I must leave?"

Singh had never seemed as gracious, and during their aperitif he even showed an interest in her morning. In _her_ morning! After he had gone, Adrianna described her own morning at the university and the arboretum.

"Singh was determined to see every plant. We walked for miles!"

"Plants? Those were what he studied in England?"

"No, his field was economics. But he's long had a passion for botany. He has dreamed of being a professor, to have a lecturer's post in Europe." Adrianna smiled brightly and added, "He is truly brilliant."

"I didn't know he was a scholar. Would you prefer his staying in Europe, or do you want to go to his country?"

"Oh, it's nothing to do with me. He will go home, take a position in the government, and maybe someday return as a traveler in Europe."

"And you say it is nothing to do with you? You mean you won't go with him?"

"Oh, no, no. I couldn't go to the Punjab."

"But why not? It would be fascinating. Sam says it is beautiful and now is very British."

"Duleep must return to his family, his obligations."

Adrianna paused and looked intently at Florence. "Surely you know we are not married."

"Well, I believe I knew, but that doesn't mean," Florence felt her way through the question, "doesn't mean that you'll not stay together, or does it?"

"My dear, that is precisely what it means." Adrianna stood up and walked toward a mirror where she examined her face for a moment. "Duleep is betrothed to a girl not yet twelve years old. He will marry her and have a family."

Florence looked at Adrianna's perfectly composed face and feared her own face showed astonishment besides her distress for her friend.

"Where will you go? What will you do?"

"It's all right, Florence, really." Adrianna had turned from the mirror and put a hand on Florence's. "My home is in Alsace, near Strasbourg, and I keep an apartment in Paris. I do not belong in India."

At that moment they were interrupted by a tap at the door.

Florence admitted a small woman who introduced herself as Madame Carlotta. Madame acknowledged Adrianna with a suggestion of a curtsy and turned to open her portmanteau. She laid out tape measure, pin cushion, and tidy squares of fabric. Handing Florence a stack of drawings, she said she was prepared to adapt any of the styles to Florence's liking.

To be measured, Florence stood on a table in her chemise, and Adrianna offered opinions on the styles and fabric samples. Florence usually agreed, and when decisions were made and Madame had gone, she sighed with relief.

"I couldn't do without your help, Adrianna. I didn't do at all well shopping on my own. Sam was very upset."

"You poor dear, your mistakes were natural enough,"

Adrianna said after listening to the story. "I'm sure Sam truly regretted scolding you. You must understand that men love being generous. It lets them feel good about themselves. And doesn't it make you feel valuable to him?"

Fascinated by Adrianna's insights and information, Florence simply nodded.

"My husband, for example, truly spoiled me." Adrianna smiled. "Surprised? I married, when I was very young. The Count was quite older, but it was my family's wish." She peered at Florence's face. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen, that is, I will be in August."

"Ah, well, I was about your age. He was very good to me, and I learned to care for him. But then, after only a few years, I became a widow."

"How terrible!"

"Not entirely. I was fond of him, faithful to him, too. We enjoyed life. We traveled. I liked that, so I continued to travel by myself. I was aware that men found my black gowns becoming, and their attentions even tempted me to end the mourning period."

"And did you marry again?"

"I saw no reason to do so," she said lightly, and then saw a question in Florence's eyes. "You are puzzled."

"I suppose. I know so little."

Florence felt ignorant. She had no context for much her friend told her, or for understanding much about princes or countesses, to say nothing of an adventurous English traveler. She had been a lone child among adults, too young to know them well or be curious about how her parents met and married, let alone what they might have felt. And Madteos and his mother certainly did not talk of such matters in her hearing. In the second decade of her life, she had been alone with the three little children and now with strangers. How could she know life? The only one to question was Nana, and she remembered her shock and fear upon discovering herself bleeding. The old woman had said it meant she was a woman and could make babies.

The information was not of much use or comfort to Florence. She had seen farm animals give birth and learned how it came about, but she didn't find it easy to apply that information to people.

Now she wondered if Adrianna would tell her, would help her understand how it happened, how people felt and spoke of it.

Florence realized she had been silent long time when she noticed Adrianna studying her as if to read her mind.

"I must seem stupid."

"No, my dear, you are certainly not stupid. But you _are_ innocent, so innocent it's frightening. That may be part of why Sam is so protective of you. However, you do learn quickly." Adrianna stood up. "But I think this is enough, for now. I must go."

Florence stood, too, and looked into her eyes.

"Oh, Adrianna, I hope you'll tell me more! Please don't keep anything from me. How else am I to learn?"

"My dear, I hope you learn without pain and sorrow. I'll do all I can to help you. My experiences aren't universal but you may find them of use." She put her arms around Florence. "You need a mother and have for a long time. I promise to make some of adult life less a mystery, to do what I can, in my way."

"Please do. You are my good friend, my only friend but for Sam!"

"Oh, yes, your friend Sam." Adrianna pressed her lips together as if closing off the rest of the thought. "Let's go out for lunch tomorrow."

That evening when Sam returned, Florence described her lesson from Professor Morley. She also reported Adrianna's help with the seamstress.

"She was wonderful! I couldn't have made all those decisions, as you have noticed."

"Fashion is her specialty. I'm sure she enjoys making them with you."

"We talk about other things, too," Florence ventured.

"Ah, and what things might they be?"

"Oh, about her, sometimes. Her life." She regretted saying that and saw Sam knew his question hadn't yet been answered. She certainly couldn't tell him they had talked about him.

The next day Florence sat down to lunch in Adrianna's corner suite where the windows on one side overlooked a garden and on the other side gave on an ancient stone church. But once they began talking, Florence saw only her friend's face.

"A man like Sam and a woman of little worldly experience," Adrianna sighed. "I'll be candid, but please understand I am not making assumptions or judgments. You're intelligent enough to use what I say as you see fit."

"I hope to. I don't know even what to ask."

"Good! Whatever you do with Sam, you must be careful." Florence waited, wondering why Adrianna hesitated.

"It would be inconvenient if you were to have a baby." Florence drew a quick breath and felt herself stiffen.

Adrianna was way ahead of her, but she must try to learn quickly, must think ahead, as Nana said, and prepare to be a woman.

"But I – we don't-" Florence took a breath, "don't know each other. You're right, I haven't thought far ahead, have not thought there was any reason to think of babies."

"No, I see you haven't. It is often that way at first, while thinking later is often too late."

"Do you believe Sam thinks of me in such a way – as a woman who-" Florence felt herself blushing. "We don't speak of such things – are not that close. I'm only a person he made himself responsible for. He's not going to marry me!"

"You don't know what he's thinking or feeling, Florence. I gather he has not tried to make love to you yet. And I can't be sure when he might; certainly you can't; and perhaps he doesn't know either. Powerful feelings can develop rapidly. They can overthrow caution and judgment. While you live as you do, under his roof, you must look to your own interests. A man can love you and want you and still need adventures or want another life more."

"I have no claim on Sam. I think he means to help me, but not to keep me with him."

"You believe that? I don't! We would not be talking like this if that were true. His interest grew by leaps the moment he saw you in that red dress the first night. At any time his feelings may overwhelm his honor and duty and all that I've said about the English. He does have feelings!"

"Do you believe he has feelings for me?"

"Florence, I sense them, as do you! I also sense that your feelings for him are similar, if you will acknowledge them. What would you do if, tonight, he were to take you in his arms and kiss you?"

The question took Florence's breath. "I don't know!"

She stood near the window and looked out at the treetops, and she felt as if she were poised dizzily on a ledge and about to fall. As she stared at the branches, she saw tiny swellings on the twigs. They were no longer dormant.

* * *

Sam's business in the city was to work out a way to stay in Europe with Florence until he could get her situated in a respectable occupation and a secure future. They could not remain in a hotel; the circumstances would appear questionable to any of his countrymen. He must locate a place and a position where he could also develop the plan for his own future. A bank that catered to travelers helped him find his way into several clubs where foreign investors gathered, and one connection led to another. It was a process he enjoyed; it elated him, as did the company of men.

He heard that the sons of the man who built Britain's longest rail line were constructing a line between Pest and Belgrade. Eventually it would extend to Sofia and beyond to the Black Sea, maybe even to Constantinople. Sam's father had been a director and part owner of Midland Railways, and Sam knew his name would be his introduction to Barkley's sons.

He hadn't told Florence about his plan to launch an expedition to Africa. It was unlikely she knew much about the interest in the Dark Continent or would understand his need to play a part in its exploration. Edgy as she was about her own future, he didn't mean to tell her his plans just yet. But he knew he must waste no more time in settling her in a secure place.

As the weeks passed, Sam watched Florence grow poised and confident. She was learning how to dress well and fix her hair in fashionable ways, yet the greater changes lay in the way she spoke. Her progress in speaking English was remarkable and often revealed a charming wit and humor. On the streets and in cafes, he noticed the admiring glances of strangers and wished he could introduce her to his new acquaintances. An opportunity to do so discreetly arose when he talked with a British officer who was passing through the city.

"He is quite young," he told Florence, "and his wife had never before been out of England. They have been seeing a bit of Europe on the way to his new post in Turkey."

"I would like to meet someone from England."

"I would certainly like Roger to meet you; however, he may be acquainted with people who know me and who will be curious as to how you and I happen to be together."

"And you don't think they'd find our story interesting?"

"I'm sure they all would," Sam laughed, relieved that she was curious rather than disturbed. "My countrymen regard it as their duty as well as a pleasure to nose into other people's lives and are as curious about blood lines as if we all were race horses or hounds. The trait is offensive as well as a nuisance. All we need say to these people is that we are related by way of my cousin Eleanor, who married a Hungarian. Do you mind the duplicity?"

"No, I don't mind pretending it's true. After all, we can't be sure it isn't. So why am I in Bucharest?"

"Perhaps you are going to visit an aunt in Cairo or at a resort on the Black Sea? If they don't ask, no manipulations of truth should be required."

The evening the four dined together went off exactly as Sam had hoped. In a few casual words, Sam established a reason for Florence to be with him. Roger and Sybil were eager to learn about Hungary, a place they thought of as romantic, and asked Florence about life there before the revolution. With apparent ease she told them about her childhood.

"You were entirely convincing, my dear," Sam told her when they were back in their suite. "Your splendid accounts charmed them."

"Oddly enough, it was all true, or nearly. I remembered things I thought they were truly lost to me."

Florence dropped onto the sofa and slipped off her low-cut kid slippers. She wiggled her white stockinged toes in the thick nap of the carpet. Sam had the impression she would like to continue their evening, and it certainly suited him to remain longer with her in this setting, this late hour. He unbuttoned his coat and poured them each a brandy before sitting beside her.

"You know, Sam, the house in Debrecen was there before my eyes, curving staircase, grand piano, long windows, the gardens. I invented very little. Remembering it made me happy, Sam. However, it was my father who worked for independence; I said my uncle because I could not talk about my father had they continued to ask. That is too difficult."

Sam took her hand, and they were silent for a few minutes until her somber look gave way to a smile.

"Rina was a maid, not my governess. But it was true that I had riding lessons from a grand looking military man. I haven't thought of him in years."

"Dear Florence, despite painful memories, you carried it off so well I didn't see any effort. I'd like to hear all – everything you can tell about yourself."

"Talking of the past tonight was good for me. I believe I thought I'd lost everything, even the memories. For so long, I've been afraid of them."

"Why do you suppose they've come now?"

"Because I'm no longer afraid, because they're worth the pain."

Her words came easily, without hesitation. "And it's all because now, for the first time in years, I feel safe. You have made it possible, Sam. I wish only that Marie were here, too. But you know that, and I don't want to burden you with my guilt."

"You've no reason to feel guilty. You were taken against your will. You tried to find her. We can only pray she has found a home."

"Yes, yes, I pray. Yet I grieve."

"Of course, and you should. It's better than trying to bury grief." He looked into her clear eyes and earnest face. "You're very beautiful, Florence, especially tonight. You deserve a good life."

He put down his glass and touched her cheek, then her ear lobe, and his fingers slipped down her throat to her bare shoulder. He was aware he was making love to her and thought she must know it, too. She didn't draw back or look away as a woman might to discourage unwelcome attentions. He was on the verge of kissing her when she spoke.

"You're so generous, Sam, the clothes, my lessons." Her look was tender. "I'm so grateful. I know, with your help, I'll soon be ready to make my own way."

Sam sat back and sighed, then stood up, his shoulders sagging in fatigue.

"We can talk of that tomorrow, my dear. Sleep well."

### Chapter 6

In his room, Sam undressed and lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head, and he scowled at the ceiling. What had happened to that intimate mood? What had she felt when he sat so close, when he caressed her?

He speculated, not for the first time, about her past. Now he wondered if she could be too innocent to recognize where this evening was leading, or if possibly she had already had too much experience, had memories of brutal men.

Whatever she had been thinking at the time, it was clear at breakfast that she remembered her own last words and was ready to amplify their point. Before pouring their coffee, Florence rattled off a resume of her employable skills and claimed to be growing steadily more competent and ready for a position. The onslaught jarred Sam's usual morning buoyancy, and he felt cross with her.

"It is much too soon for us to have this discussion, Florence. You must be truly fluent in your new language."

"I'm sorry," she said, squaring her shoulders, "Although you find my English flawed, it will improve rapidly when it is necessary for me to use it. And though you've seen no evidence, please believe that I am a good worker. I sew. I make pastry and excellent bread. I know some geography. I've read histories of Greece and Rome and I can read music."

"Please, Florence! I haven't intended to disparage your learning. Your talent for languages is impressive, and your skills are admirable. But please don't set your goal as domestic service."

"Why not? I would rather be in a home than in a shop."

"Oh God! Don't think of being either shop girl _or_ maid! Your learning is already sufficient for you to be a governess, but we must have reliable information about any prospective employers. Have you talked with Adrianna about these matters?"

Sam didn't care what Adrianna thought but wanted an end to this discussion. She was looking down at her hands, and he couldn't see her expression or know what effect his words had. He knew he had again been abrupt.

"Why don't we wait until I see the Barkleys? Today's meeting may offer good news."

"Yes, of course."

She was clearly disturbed; he had hurt her feelings. This transient hotel life surely fostered tension. However, by evening he might be in a position to make decisions, to take them to a less public place.

* * *

Florence had barely opened the door to Adrianna before complaining. "Sam asked what you thought about my taking a position as a governess. I simply don't know what he expects."

They had planned to walk in the park after her English lesson, and today, that lesson seemed long and tedious. All she wanted was to talk to Adrianna.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Sam has been preparing me for a 'position befitting a young lady'. Lessons and clothes are supposed to ready me to do what he thinks fit. I tell him I know how to work, and he won't hear of my housemaid's skills and says I cannot consider being a shop girl." Florence drew a breath and added, "He frowns and looks peevish."

"Oh dear, I'm beginning to see what is going on. But go, ready yourself for a walk in the park."

"He is very busy, busy," Florence said as she settled a small bonnet on her head, "doing something – something he thinks will amount to something."

Adrianna shook her head and gripped her friend's shoulders, and then she straightened her collar.

"You said _something_ three times, yet you have let me understand nothing!"

"Oh, Adrianna, I'm sorry for babbling."

Florence tried to sort the information, slight as it was, and tried to describe her puzzling exchanges with Sam. Adrianna listened, nodding, then sat on a bench, motioning for Florence to sit beside her.

"I think I see now, dear one. From the start: Sam bought you. It was an impulsive act, especially for Sam. He is, as you know, dignified and highly principled. He opposes slavery, all slavery, so he _had_ to rescue you from a terrible life. And he did think of you as a child."

Adrianna paused, drew a deep breath. Florence said nothing and waited, hoping to understand Adrianna's interpretation of her situation. So far she hadn't heard enough.

"But don't you see, Florence? He feels both noble and guilty for having bought you. Now he can no longer see you as a child, a foundling to be handed off at the nearest convent. He actually _sees you_. He is getting to know you and can't help wanting you, wanting to keep you."

"He wants to keep me? How do you know?"

"One has only to look at him, the way he looks at you. And anyone can see how awkward he feels about it."

"Sam? Awkward? He's been everywhere and accomplished things. He's wise and strong. And all I see is that I am a problem, a burden. He has never said he wants me to stay with him. What makes you think he does?"

"I understand him, as well as a foreigner can."

"So, tell me what you understand. Why would he want me?"

Adrianna raised her hands and pressed them together as if in prayer and lifted her eyes to the heavens.

"What? Adrianna, why do you look like that? What have I said?"

"Oh, Florence, he wants you to love him! To feel something other than gratitude! But he doesn't think it is right to say so. I understand but I cannot tell you what to do." She pulled her shawl more snugly around her shoulders. "It's turning cold. Let's go back to the hotel."

They walked swiftly without speaking, Florence trying to examine what Adrianna said. In her own sitting room, Adrianna touched a match to the gas jet in the fireplace and poured sherries. Florence settled close to the hearth, waiting for more words.

"My words should warm you more than fire and sherry. It is no small matter to be desired by a man like Sam."

"Don't frighten me. Just make me believe it."

"I'll try. The English make accidents of birth into a system, which they allow to dictate their lives. They have principles, derived from religion, nature, history, and patriotism, and they are like laws. Allegiance to them admits few alternatives. The more worldly English often find the continent less rigid or dogmatic, and some like to live in their colonies where life is simpler. Even so, they go to some length to prove their patriotism. Adventurers like Sam live where they like and do as they please while serving the Empire. Oh dear. I am not doing this very well, am I?"

"I think I am following you," Florence sighed, "and may understand what you say about their system, and maybe what it tells me about Sam."

"He wants you with him. But, though well born, you are very young, are without family, and are not English. He is the eldest son and accepts the duties of family and country, takes them seriously." Adrianna's wry smile suggested that she did not take such matters so seriously.

"So I cannot be good enough no matter what I do?"

"Terrible, isn't it?" However, I don't believe Sam sees it entirely that way. What matters is that when Sam makes up his mind, those who oppose him or are critical are simply wrong- headed. But it may be difficult for you."

"That does begin to explain his behavior – but I still don't know what I am to do or say."

"I think he will do his best to have you, to keep you with him, if he knows that's what you want as well. Then he can have his honor and will vanquish opposition of any kind. He would not do anything to make you unhappy. Now, what do you say?"

"Thank you, dear friend. I've much to think about."

Florence went to the window and, looking down on the garden, recalled that first night when Sam said the trees were dormant. She now thought Sam may have felt alone and old. Now the rain-wet blossoms were bursting with life, and she believed he no longer felt that way.

"Florence! Get ready to go out for dinner. Wear the green velvet."

She put down the unopened book she had been holding ever since she'd come in. Sam's sudden appearance halted her speculation about Adrianna's opinions. She hurried to her chamber and laid out new petticoats and an emerald moiré gown with the velvet bodice and velvet bands around the bottom of the skirt. As she washed, she noticed that the walk in the park had brought color to her cheeks. Taking down her hair, she brushed it hard and gathered it loosely into a soft knot at the nape of her neck and wondered if Sam would notice.

The answer was in his smile as he settled her cloak on her shoulders and let his fingers linger lightly on her bare neck.

On the way to the restaurant, she felt spring in the air, and heard, in Sam's voice, excitement, even triumph.

"Price introduced me to Jack and Philip Barkley, and we talked all afternoon about a rail line that will go all the way across Europe and eventually to Constantinople. Just think, Florence, we might one day cross Europe by rail car!"

"That isn't easy to imagine, but I think it would be lovely to watch the world passing your windows and never have to find a place to sleep or eat."

"I do like the steam engine. An old man once said, 'The English ride on vapors of boiling cauldrons, and their horses are flaming coals!' He admired the drama but had no idea of the comforts that will become commonplace for the traveler."

"You really are going to build a railway?"

"Well, yes. There will be local labor supervised by the Barkleys and their foremen. They need a manager – an English one, of course, and Price appointed me, then and there. I shall be director of operations for the eastern end of the project – or what will be the eastern end."

Although she knew nothing of business or industry, his news surprised her.

"Sam, are you 'taking a position,' as I think you'd say?"

"I'm not at all reluctant to take it on, and of course it is salaried. You may find it incredible, but I have never had any nonsensical ideas about what a gentleman may do or not do. I have the skills and have put my shoulder to a wheel or two as well as worked on plans, and there is no reason I should not accept a salary."

Florence nodded and smiled, thinking of Adrianna's explanations of class distinctions. However, his exchanging his skills for money didn't seem very different from her going into "service." She would remember his words and use them next time he dismissed her skills.

"The offices are at the end of the line, on the Black Sea, a coast with quite an ancient history, and I may have to see to removing Roman artifacts."

"I don't remember where the Black Sea is, and I'm not sure what you mean about artifacts."

Seated in the restaurant, Sam perused the menu and then, after ordering, gave full attention to her questions and a future he conceived of for them.

"It is the very edge of Europe, an interesting place in many ways. We can live in a house in or near Constanta, maybe even have a dog or two."

"A house!"

"Haven't you had enough of living in a hotel? We'll be there for some time."

For Florence the house was the heart of Sam's news. What had he in mind for her, for them? Adrianna said he wants me, but he had not said that, yet he spoke as though the matter had been settled. He made it sound like the obvious, sensible thing to do – to live in a house.

Looking at her with one eyebrow raised, Sam said, "I have never seen you look so perplexed, Florence. What are you thinking?"

"About a house, steam engines, a black sea. I don't know."

On the way back to the hotel, he held Florence's arm snugly against his side and kept on talking.

"Be patient, my dear. Since I don't know anything about the house, we'll just have to hope for the best."

In their suite, as Sam took her cloak, he bent his head and kissed her ear lobe. She shivered.

"A brandy to settle the meal and make us sleepy?" Sam rubbed his hands together, "You're not too tired? Perhaps you would rather retire now?"

"Of course not, Sam. I'm excited about your news."

"As I said, I don't know what sort of house, but we'll go on much as we have. However, I shall be your English tutor. Can you bear my doing that? And I hope you agree to manage the house, good experience, if you want to do it. Of course we'll have a cook and maid, whatever you require."

Florence was stunned. She wanted to believe Sam's decisions would be right for her but hadn't anticipated keeping his house and what that signified. He seemed to speak of the arrangement as if she were actually his Hungarian niece, but something made her think he had a different relationship in mind. Or was she influenced too much by Adrianna's words?

The salon's gaslights had been turned off, and Sam lit candles. As the full moon slid into view, filling a pane of the long windows, Florence felt drawn toward it. This time she knew Sam followed her and was aware of his nearness as she looked out at the silvery treetops.

"In only a few weeks, it has changed. It is no longer desolate," Sam said, and with his hands on her shoulders turned her to face him, "no longer dormant. And you are no longer sad and lost, but radiant."

"Oh, Sam, if that's true, it's because of you. I'm happy. You've done so much for me. I owe you my very life!"

The words tumbled forth as she perceived that he felt he, himself, had changed. He was looking at her intently, and suddenly his arms were around her, drawing her close as he had once before. Against his chest, she breathed in scents of tobacco and Bay Rum lotion and heard his heartbeat, or was it her own? She thought if he held her that way long enough her body would melt into his. She longed for that and feared it. As she pressed her fingers into his back, she felt his sharp intake of breath.

His hand touched her face and lifted her chin, and his lips touched hers lightly, then more firmly. She dared not breathe.

Then moving his mouth near her ear, he said her name, "Florence, Florence, oh, dear God, I cannot let you go."

But he did. And held her at arms' length, gazing at her face. Then he released her and strode to his room.

Weak-kneed and breathless, Florence turned back to the window and helpless tears filled her eyes. Why had he left her again?

* * *

Sam had already eaten his breakfast when Florence came out of her room. He was sitting at the small desk with his family pictures propped up in front of him, but he had not yet begun his task.

"Everything is still warm. Excuse me for not waiting, but I must finish some letters before I go out."

"There is nothing to excuse, Sam, I slept late."

"And well, I hope. I slept very little, so many things on my mind. But soon we'll be off to the Black Sea, that is, assuming you agree to go."

"But I have agreed, Sam. How could I argue with your decision, or refuse you in any way?" She paused and looked away from him for a long moment before she could go on. "My tutor called you my benefactor. Isn't that a nice word?"

"It sounds rather grand," Sam answered with an amused smile, "and you agree?"

"Not entirely, for the dictionary emphasizes financial support. You provide much more."

He smiled slightly and gestured toward the papers on desk. "I must write and post these today."

Bucharest 28 March 1859

My dear sister,

My most abject apologies! I have been remiss in not writing more often, but travel with a prince has been more demanding than I expected.

I trust that you and my darlings are well and happy. I can imagine all of you enjoying England's perfect spring.

As you know, Min, I have dreamed of exploring the Dark Continent and now feel close to a decision.

Close, as well, to the Nile River, the road I mean to take into the heart of Africa.

It is, I believe, my time to go to Egypt, to mount a small expedition. No point in returning to England in further search of a sponsor. I shall act on my own, to which end I have secured a position with a railway group.

Wouldn't Father have been pleased! I will locate for a year or so on the Black Sea, where I can make all preparations..

Please explain all this as best you can to my girls.

I miss them and enclose a note to each. You are a splendid mother to them, Min. No words can convey my gratitude for all you have done and for your continued devotion. and they you.

I know you love them.

Your most grateful & loving brother, Sam

P.S. Am posting a letter to James in response to his, received in Budapest concerning Val. I am sure there are mitigating circumstances and trust that you, dear Min, forgive the indiscretions of a young man, especially our dear brother's. Men carry a beast within, and I do not presume to judge Val.

Pray for all your brothers.

Ever, S.

And a second letter to his younger brother:

Dear James,

I do appreciate your letting me have the news from you rather than from a stranger or, God forbid, from Min. There are times I've thought Val ought to marry and settle down, but I doubt it is possible. He is so damnably charming, I really do believe the women, themselves, play some part in this. I cannot imagine his forcing himself on anyone, can you?

Being single isn't so easy on me, either, old man, but I shall try not to disgrace us.

I have taken a position on the eastern end of the Trans-Euro rail line because it will give me a base from which to plan an expedition to Africa. I'll get down to the labour of acquiring equipment, and I may call on you for help.

I could go it alone, knowing previous efforts have foundered on disagreements amongst leaders. However, the prospect of years of conversing with camel drivers leads me to wish for a suitable companion. I don't mean to go off my mind in the wilds! I'll send my address from Constanta. Tell your lovely Louisa her bearded old brother-in-law still adores her.

Best, etc.

Sam

And that is done, he thought.

* * *

While Sam wrote, Florence looked up from her books from time to time, seeing expressions cross his face like the shadows of clouds on the mountains. He glanced often at the family photographs, and she envied Sam his sisters and brothers. The continuity awed her; and he had daughters even though he'd lost his wife. When Sam finished he looked up, and for a moment she thought her presence startled him.

"Well, now that's finished. I must also talk with Duleep. I think he's seen enough of the continent and ought to be on his way. I have no advice for him."

"I'm sure you must have! He's so young and concerned with himself. I thought at first he disliked me but I've decided that isn't it. He's merely self-centered!"

"You're right, in a way. He can be rather child-like and silly. He was spoiled, of course, and then came to England and lived among boys and men who assume they are his betters. He is sensitive. Nevertheless, I admit being weary of him. Seeing more of the world, I hoped he'd act more the man."

"Adrianna says he is brilliant."

"I'm sure she sees his best side. He may be not quite himself with me. After all, I am an Englishman and therefore must be hypocritical and, of course, imperious."

"And you've been so kind to him! Adrianna admires you greatly, and I think he must, as well."

"Perhaps. But he may be justified in having reservations about me; I have my biases. In the main, we are very different and have been too long together."

"He is going to India without Adrianna. You knew that, didn't you?"

"I did. It was no surprise to Adrianna, I assure you. She has a life to return to. She really is a countess, and a very wealthy one."

"I supposed so, but she is also very warm and loving, and I don't see how he can abandon her!"

"Oh, my dear, it is not as bad as all that." Sam put an arm around Florence's shoulders, "Adrianna is a strong woman and has her own defenses against men like him. I am sure she would be less ready to change her life for him than he for her."

Florence sighed and hoped it was true while wondering if it could be. And she wondered what Sam meant by "men like him."

"I'm going to post these letters," Sam said, slipping into his coat. "Why don't you take a look at these maps? See where we shall be going."

### Chapter 7

The Black Sea, 1859-60

The four settled themselves in a large coach with their bags strapped on the roof and rear carrier. This time they were all in better humor than on their hurried ride from Widdin. Sam and Singh talked about the railways extending across Eastern Europe. Florence and Adrianna seemed to listen, but from time to time their eyes met in mutual awareness of conversations they might enjoy if they were alone. Florence was sorry they would soon be parting and sad about Adrianna soon parting from her lover. But her own future now hovered in her mind, ready to edge out all else. That she would live under Sam's roof in a situation as yet undefined filled her with mingled joy and anxiety.

Sam had asked if she would manage his house, perhaps not knowing how the prospect made her spirits soar. She imagined suppers she would cook and evenings by a fire when they would talk, and then she succumbed to mindless recollections of his touch. She was curious about intimacies and wondered how their bodies might join. She knew she'd be shy and feared she'd be clumsy, and Adrianna had been clear about how easily intimacy could endanger, even ruin, her life. However, with Sam as her English tutor, the hours of conversation could bring them close, and she might understand him and what it was he wanted of her.

In Constanta the carriage rumbled along the cobblestone waterfront, passing a building where the Turkish flag waved and two soldiers stood guard. When Florence saw them, her hand went out to Sam's arm, and he put his hand over hers. Before a block of commercial buildings, Sam signaled for a stop, alit, and went through a door beneath a swinging gold and black sign.

He came out with a handful of papers and several large keys. They next stopped across the road at an inn built on the rocky edge of the sea, and Sam and Singh got out. While they were busy sorting out luggage, Florence took Adrianna's hand.

"I don't know where our house is, but I hope it's not far from here. You must come to see me soon."

"I promise I will, at the first opportunity. I need to see you settled there, that I may picture you in my thoughts."

"Oh, Adrianna, let's not speak of parting yet. Come to us soon, for a visit."

"Yes, dear, and meanwhile, trust your feelings."

Sam and Florence rode south from the town on a dirt road that wound up a steep hill toward the top of a bluff. On their left was the sea, and her first real look at it amazed Florence She gasped at the sight of an immense stretch of water shimmering like a tray of hammered metal.

"I've never seen a sea! How far is it to the other shore? Can one go all the way around it, like a lake?"

"It's more than six hundred miles to the eastern shore. I don't know how far around, but theoretically, yes, we could go all the way around it. The distance from north to south is less, and the Crimean peninsula dips into it from the north."

"What's on the other sides?"

"To the east, Russia's border with the Ottoman Empire. The Crimea is off that way." Sam pointed to the northeast horizon. "That's where my brothers Valentine and James fought in the war I was telling Singh about. Not long ago."

"Why were the English there?"

"England was aiding the Turks, as were the French."

"And won?"

"Not easily, but, yes, I guess it was a victory."

As the road swung inland from the sea, they passed gates on either side, with houses set back from the road. Before long Sam thumped the roof, and they turned left and passed between stone gateposts.

As they drew up at a half-timbered house, Florence saw the sun flashing on diamond-paned windows in gables above the entrance. The driver looped the reins on a post, and Sam leapt down and bounded up the steps. By the time he was turning a key in the lock, Florence was at his side.

"Oh, isn't it splendid!"

"We'll see, come on."

He stood aside to let her enter and then lit candles in a pair of sconces that bracketed an oval mirror. The driver waited behind them, bags under his arms and gripped in his hands, until Sam pointed him toward a staircase that climbed up along the right wall and bent back on itself above their heads.

Florence was ready to follow the driver up so she could be in the room with the dormers, but on her left a large room caught her attention. Under its beamed ceiling, wingback chairs flanked a long sofa that faced a big stone fireplace. And farther from the front windows, another room, a dining room, extended to the back wall and broad French doors. She hurried toward the doors to see a brick terrace and walkways that ended at the edge of a bluff overlooking the sea. The water now reflected a pink and lavender sky, and from below came the faint sounds of the surf.

Florence was speechless as she turned to look at Sam. He was smiling broadly, almost amused by her reaction.

"You like it, I see. And it seems we were expected." Sam gestured toward the dining table, where silver and glassware had been laid on a nubby linen cloth.

"Who expected us, Sam?" Florence had scarcely noticed the table. "How did this come about?"

"Our papers say a woman called Yesil will come every day and do whatever we require in the way of cooking and housekeeping. She lives in a house we passed just below and takes care of an old woman alone there. It will be up to you to decide what you want her to do here."

As they walked back through the rooms, Florence felt his arm brushing hers.

"Not elegant but comfortable and rather inviting, like a country place where people relax. Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes. I like the dark wood, and its colors, like the outdoors."

Across the entrance hall in a smaller room, shelves lined the walls, and the driver was there stacking boxes near a broad, flat-topped desk and two leather chairs.

While Sam paid him and arranged for further livery services, Florence went upstairs to the front room and saw the dormers bright with the setting sun's glow. On three sides of the room, the ceiling pitch was so steep that Sam instinctively ducked his head as he entered, and she laughed.

"Not a room for grownups, Sam. or nursery."

It must have been a playroom.

She pointed to pictures of a knight and a castle on one wall. A low square table and chair were near the windows, and a narrow bed stood against one side wall. Florence sat on its edge and smoothed the white coverlet.

"Nice," she said. "It's cozy like an attic room."

"But very bright in the afternoon, too bright for nap time, but very good for a playroom."

She followed Sam into the larger room where sets of drawers met the sloping ceiling on two sides, and mirrored wardrobes stood on each side of the doorway. Sam had gone to the casement windows and flung them open, and Florence walked around the carved footboard of the bed to join him.

"Look at the sea and sky! The morning sun will be bright in this room."

He locked his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head as the fresh marine breeze billowed through the white curtains and swept the room.

"Oh, Florrie, you'll be happy here, I promise. We'll make a home such as you've not had in a long time."

"Florrie? No one has ever called me that!" She laughed at the sound of it.

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not. It sounds light-hearted, happy."

"Good! I want you to be light-hearted and happy. Now let's go see what Yesil has left for our meal."

He released her with a gentle hug and kept a hand on her back as if to guide her to the door. As they came around the landing of the stairs, they saw boxes stacked in the hall as well as the study.

"I'll see about the dinner, Sam. I know you want to unpack your books."

In the kitchen Florence lit an oil lamp, and she could smell the dinner before she opened the oven, where a leg of lamb oozed juices around garlic cloves that studded its crisp surface. On top of the stove, a covered dish of vegetables emitted a subtler aroma, and in the warming oven were a pan of fresh-baked bread and two plates. She lifted the kettle and, judging it full, moved it forward to a hotter part of the stove.

"It's all ready, Sam. We have only to wait for the water to boil for tea," she called out and then turned to find he was right there in the doorway, holding a bottle of wine.

"Let's drink to beginning our life in this house."

After dinner, they took their teacups and stepped out onto the terrace and listened to the gentle rush of waves followed by the rattle of the sand as the water retreated. In the black sky stars glittered coldly, and Florence cupped her hands around her steaming cup. Sam put his arm around her.

"You must know how much I like having you at my side, Florence. It feels right. Do you feel that, too?"

"I do. I haven't dared say how happy I am."

"You're shivering."

Back in the house, he took her cup and placed it on the table with his and looked into her eyes.

"You won't talk any more of making your own way, will you? Tell me you want to stay with me, please. Will you say it?"

"I do want to stay with you, Sam. I truly do."

He kissed her gently, a long, slow kiss that moved from her lips to her eyelids and back to her mouth, and she was filled with the yearning to melt into his body.

Embers from the fire Sam lit before dinner gave the room its only light, and Florence sat on the edge of the chair nearest the hearth and held her hands toward the heat. Sam added wood and stirred up a blaze, then sat at her feet.

"Are you still cold? Can I get your shawl?"

"Thanks, no. The fire will be enough."

"Remember when I tucked you into the coach in Widden?" His fingers circled her ankle as he removed her slipper. "I tried to warm your bare feet?"

"And I reacted without thought. I saw I hurt your feelings and was sorry."

"A natural, defensive reaction. I understood. I felt, not hurt, but clumsy."

"You are never clumsy."

He removed her other shoe and, with his head lowered, seemed to concentrate on rubbing each foot. Then quite suddenly he was on his knees, his arms circling her hips and his face in her lap. Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked down at his hair, and touched it, weaving her fingers into the thick crisp curls.

"You don't draw back from my touch now," he said.

"No, I haven't since that first day," she hesitated, "but you have often drawn back. You walked away time and time again. More than once in the hotel you held me until I thought I'd faint, then walked away and closed the door to your room."

"Yes. It must have seemed I was rejecting you. But it was my need for you that made me walk away. I was struggling to be fair to you."

He stood up and pulled her to her feet so he could see her face in the flickering light. His hands found hers and laced their fingers together, and she waited, hoping he would explain, but he just looked into her eyes.

"Fair to me? Sam, you've been more than fair. You've been kind from the first moment, and open and I trusted you. What can you mean by fair?"

"My dearest, you were a fragile, helpless child whom I meant only to save from men who would misuse you. I saw nothing beyond that. I didn't expect you to be so fine, so quick, and so very pleasant to be with. When you were helpless and in danger, I wanted to show you kindness and decency still exist, wanted only to be benevolent." He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. "And then the helpless child showed herself to be a lovely woman with a spirit that captivated me." He stepped back from her, though their hands were still clasped.

"However, you are helpless still and at my mercy, so to speak."

"If I have this spirit you mention, and the heart and soul you said cannot be bought, how can you say I'm helpless? Once I had dressed in the right clothes, I could have walked out of the hotel and found work. You know that! I didn't need more English, didn't need you to find me a 'suitable position.' I could have lived, somehow."

"Somehow, indeed – meaning quite miserably. I could not allow that. I want you to be happy, to have a life you deserve."

"Sam, you have so many ideas about how things ought to be, you don't notice how things are, how I am."

"Then you must tell me, Florence. Talk to me, about what you think, want, believe. But first, understand what I mean by fair: I don't think you should just be what I want, but I fear I may try to make that happen. I could because I am very good at getting what I want. And that would be unfair to you, and I would know I had behaved dishonorably."

"Oh, Sam, I can't explain what I want. I can't imagine the choices. I know so little of the world and have gone through so many years alone, among people, but alone. No one ever told me to plan a future or asked what I wanted." She leaned forward, her forehead pressing against his chest, and whispered, "But you, Sam, you want so much for me. You make me happy, Sam. You mean everything to me. I want to be with you all the time."

"Are you sure, Florence?"

"Yes, yes, please love me, Sam."

He led her to the stairway and, hand in hand, they went up to the big bed in the room where the sea winds filled the curtains.

The sun shone into the room and woke Florence. She slipped out of bed without disturbing Sam and was grinding coffee beans when he came into the kitchen. She felt his presence but did not turn as he put his arms around her and kissed her neck. She had never been so happy. At the breakfast table, he pointed out that previous tenants had probably enjoyed a pleasant domestic life.

"They set a pretty table, slept in a good bed," he said.

"Who do you suppose slept in that other bed?"

"I'd never have let you sleep there."

"Really?" Florence had assumed, less than twenty-four hours before, that it would be hers. "Surely you don't think I expected to take the master bedroom?"

"Ah, but you did, took it and me with it."

"You see how greedy I've become! But I didn't really care which bed, you know."

"I wish I weren't expected in the office today. But the livery service will be here at any moment."

Watching Sam leave, Florence ached and burned, thinking of the hours she must endure without him. As she watched his carriage out of sight, she heard a rap on the back door, heard it opening. A woman's voice called an odd hello, and Florence went into the kitchen to meet Yesil.

They talked haltingly of menus and meal times. Yesil wrote a list of foods, and Florence deciphered most of the key words. Finally, Yesil seemed satisfied to know what was expected of her. And after all the gesturing, head shaking or nodding, Florence felt she had made a first giant step toward managing the house.

She went into the study and found Sam had set out books for her. A small volume of poems by Alfred Tennyson lay open to The Charge of the Light Brigade," about the war in the Crimea, the peninsula out there on the horizon, where Sam's brother had been a hero. Poems could be puzzles, but this one she understood without using the dictionary. Nevertheless, any poem seemed long today as her mind strayed to their night together.

When Sam had come to lie beside her, he was naked, as he'd said they both must be. He began to touch her body, lightly, gently, while he kissed her lips and breasts. His fingers moved slowly from her shoulder to her waist, across her hip and then along her thigh. Then his hand was behind her knee, and lifting her leg across his body, he brought her close and pressed that mysterious, hard and hot part of him against her.

"Touch me, Florence, touch me," he'd said, and she did.

Remembering it, she felt herself radiating heat, and she laid the back of her hand to cheek and forehead, testing for fever. After all her wondering and worrying, everything had been so simple and natural. Now her senses raged in recollection, and she couldn't concentrate on pages of words.

She could see farther down the road from the study windows than from in the living room, which looked out only toward the gate. With her book open in her hands, she went from room to room.

In late afternoon when she happened not to be looking, Sam came through the gate riding a gray horse and leading a black one. She ran out to meet him.

"Florence! I was sure you'd remember your riding lessons, and I thought we should ride together."

"Wonderful! I know I've not forgotten!"

"We'll enjoy some outings on the backs of these good beasts, and I'll be able to come and go when I choose. No livery man will ever drag me from you again."

Florence took the reins of the handsome black mare, hiked up her skirts, put a foot in the stirrup. She swung easily into the sidesaddle, patted the horse's neck, and twitched the reins. Sam grinned at her as they set off at a canter. On the way back they rode at a slower gait and dismounted near a small stable beyond the woodshed and chopping block.

Sam unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down while Florence watched, still exhilarated by the ride. She loved the sight of his hands touching each piece of equipment with respect, handling the horses tenderly.

"I like this," Sam said when he noticed her watching. "I've always had horses and dogs, big dogs." He finished seeing to their feed and dried his hands on his handkerchief. "By the way, I spoke with Singh today. He said they will come to see us on Sunday."

"Oh, good! I'll talk about the dinner to Yesil tonight when she brings our fresh vegetables."

"I wish Yesil weren't coming,'' Sam said, as he set his hands on her hips and pulled her toward him.

Florence flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. Still kissing, Sam lifted her off her feet and seated her on a stack of baled hay. With one hand he pushed up her skirts, and she leaned back on the pungent, prickly hay. In a frenzy they unfastened garments, pressed their bodies together and coupled, swiftly as animals, then clung together. Florence stroked Sam's hair away from his sweaty forehead and breathed in the scents of hay and horses' moist breath blending with a smell she recognized now as semen. It was all perfect.

They were in the house, having a glass of wine when Yesil arrived with a basket of vegetables, scrubbed and ready to cook. She put them in the pot with the simmering meat and asked if she could do more. Both said no so quickly that her eyes widened, and she straightened her back and said a hurried good-night.

* * *

Out of sight of the house in the morning, Sam slowed his horse to a walk. Making love to Florence gave him even more satisfaction than he'd anticipated, yet he was feeling less than honorable. From the beginning, he had thought it more than likely that soldiers had raped her. It was reasonable to assume that violation and the limitations of life on a peasants' farm would leave her fearful. Had she expressed fear or resisted him in any way, of course, he would have stopped. He was neither a rake nor a boor.

But it was a great relief to have been mistaken about her past. And then, that she was a virgin after all was less astonishing than the intensity and pleasure with which she responded.

What did it all come to? He wanted her with him, and he wanted to go to Africa. Now it would be unscrupulous as well as unbearable to leave her.

Going over all this, he felt relieved to get to work even though work was presenting unexpected problems, too.

### Chapter 8

Florence thought a picnic would provide an opportunity for Sam and Singh to go off on a walk along the shore, and that is what happened. She and Adrianna were left alone to talk while they set out the food.

"You really look wonderful, Florence. Don't tell me it's housekeeping that makes you glow!"

"I saw the way you were watching me, us— Sam and me."

"You look truly happy, at ease with yourself, and Sam does, too."

"I hadn't imagined how it could be – how making love could be. I was so upset those times he kissed me and walked away. He left me puzzled about what I had said or done. Now he tells me he was trying to be _fair_ to me!"

"I did try to explain that – and I hope now you understand. I didn't say then that he might be worried that you had reasons to fear or reject a man's advances. I didn't want to ask if you'd been assaulted by your captors or anyone else. After you and I talked, I was quite certain you had not been, and that you were merely shy. That's why I urged you to be good to him."

"You know, Adrianna, I didn't understand why the men didn't touch any of the girls although they did things to the boys. I didn't know there would be blood, and girls would never be the same, but now I see why they left the girls alone. You see, I was even more ignorant than you suspected."

"Did it matter? I mean, did anything about it, the bleeding or pain, distress you?"

"No, no, no! Not at all."

"But then, Sam knew, too, that you were innocent," Adrianna stopped herself, putting a hand to her lips. "I shouldn't ask questions. You know, Florence, I don't expect you to tell me things that are private, are secret between you."

"I want to tell you I feel marvelous and to thank you. Now I know why you wanted me to show Sam how I felt."

"Yes, well, that's all taken care of. But don't forget about contraception. I hope I was sufficiently specific."

"You were, but I confess I didn't think about that at the time. But Sam did."

"I should hope so. He is, after all, a father, many times over. You two have talked about it?"

"No, not exactly."

"I don't quite follow the _exactly_ part, Florence."

"I didn't think. But he took care -with a handkerchief. He stopped, just before, I didn't think, wasn't sensible."

"Hmmm. I know what you mean, Florence. The method has a nice Latin name, but it will not work, not in the long run."

Adrianna frowned, and Florence knew from the authority in her friend's voice, that she hadn't been as sensible as Adrianna had hoped.

"I am astonished," Adrianna said. "You must insist Sam be better prepared. It is very, very important for you, Florence."

"Adrianna, you cannot imagine how ignorant I am and how little I understood these things. You are truly my friend to try to help."

"Thank you, dear. Now just listen and remember: even though there is no perfect defense, you can lessen the risk. It is really Sam's responsibility, too."

Florence didn't remember ever having being so happy. Each morning, after Sam was gone, she exercised the horses and came to know and love the countryside. Often, she rode where farmers carted their garden crops to town, and other times she followed the seashore. In the house, she adapted easily to her role and developed skills as she worked beside Yesil in the kitchen.

She learned to do things Nana had never let her try. She now could plunge a fowl into boiling water and pull off its smelly feathers by the handful, draw out entrails and clean the gizzard, too, and never flinch. She saw that, like Nana, Yesil did what needed to be done and seemed to take satisfaction in it.

Afternoons when the weather was very warm, the house stayed cool, and Florence had the house all to herself. She read books in English, keeping a big dictionary at her side and a notebook on her lap, and she wrote out questions to ask Sam when he came home.

On the days Sam didn't go into town, they rode together. He taught her to handle guns and a rifle, but, although her aim was good, she seldom killed anything. She liked to watch him as he cleaned the guns and polished their boots. At summer's end they tramped the meadows while Sam brought down pheasants, which Florence learned to cook and season well.

They always spoke in English now, and Florence propped her vocabulary cards against vases, candleholders, salt box, and tea caddy – wherever she might easily see them. He teased her about keeping some at their bedside for the words he used in making love, and for which she knew of no translation.

One Sunday they rode the horses along the beach and into Constanta and stopped near the market square to look at a stone monument, the life-sized figure of a man in a toga.

"The Greeks founded this city," Sam said, "and later, a Roman emperor exiled a great poet here."

The Poet's image faced the sea, his flowing garments pitted and his features blunted, yet his words remained clear. Sam read and translated their ancient Latin:

OVID

DIED IN THE PORT CITY OF TOMIS

18 A.D.

All things change; Nothing dies.

The spirit wanders, Comes now here—

Now here—

"Sad, sad and forlorn," Florence said. The wind suddenly felt cold and she shivered.

Sam held her hand as they rode home, and he spoke of the poet's exile:

"Emperor Augustus banished Ovid because his love poems were too erotic – they turned love into sport or lessons in seduction. Ovid lived here for years and wrote about his yearning for home. However, he also learned the language of a people he had called barbarians, and they listened when he read 'Tristia' and his other works to them."

"Then maybe his banishment wasn't so bad, after all," Florence said. "It is wise to make your home wherever you must be, don't you agree?"

"I do indeed."

That evening Sam told Florence about his own yearning, not for home, but for places he'd never seen. He dreamed, he said, of exploring Africa and finding the source of its great river.

She told him she understood his dream and showed him a poem she'd found in the Tennyson book.

"Ulysses was like you, Sam," she said, "always wanting to travel, to go beyond the horizon and 'follow knowledge like a sinking star.'"

Later with Sam sleeping beside her, Florence thought about the Greek hero who wanted to go away again, leaving his faithful wife alone. Was Sam that restless, too?

* * *

After dinner Florence tucked her feet up on the seat of the big leather chair facing the desk where Sam was reading practice sentences she had written. After that they did the questions and answers to work on verb tenses and vocabulary. Only English was allowed, and no dictionary. Florence framed an easy question:

"Tell me about a place you want to visit, and why."

"I would like to explore the tombs of Egypt."

"For how long have you wanted to travel there?"

"I dreamed of going there when I was ten."

"Does that mean you no longer do?"

"Good! You caught the simple past – which did not tell you that I did and still do. Yes, I have dreamed of it, always. Now you tell me two things about yourself, using different tenses."

"I had dreamed of seeing a sea. Now that I have seen one, I would like to see an ocean."

"Very, very good. Where would you go, given a choice?"

"Given by who?"

"By whom. Given by fate or by me."

"If I were to choose, I would go wherever you go."

"Dear one, lessons aside, I want to talk about going to Africa, about the mystery of the Nile. All the places I read about as a boy: statues tall as buildings, vast deserts, great pyramids. I had books with photos taken by a Frenchman in Luxor and a book about Champollion, who deciphered hieroglyphs."

"I, too, had dreams. Madteos promised Rina I would be educated, but there was no school for girls. He sent me to the priest, who taught me Latin and history and let me look at his books of pictures."

"He did well by you. Do you know the Nile floods Egypt every year, but no one knows its source?"

"Can't it be found by going up the river?"

"In theory, yes, but all navigation stops at the big rocky obstructions they call the cataracts. The Greeks believed the Nile's source lay in the 'Mountains of the Moon.' I want to try to find it, and I want you to go with me."

Florence was awed, and could not imagine such an expedition or of what use she would be.

"I had hoped to find a companion, a congenial man who shared my interest, but I've known of men who start as friends and come home the fiercest enemies, like Speke and Burton." Sam explained those men's quarrel over trifles and eventually over their major decisions, including Speke's claim of finding the headwaters of the Nile.

"Speke is now readying another expedition, leaving from Zanzibar with another man."

"Such an expedition must be very complicated. What do you take with you – how do you know what you will need?"

"The preparations are arduous, but once done, and done right, the journey is exciting and satisfying. But before I get started on that, I want to know if you will consider going with me. Having someone to talk with comfortably is essential, and I cannot imagine any person more suitable than you. I would never be bored or feel at odds with you."

"Oh, Sam, I am surprised and overcome with pleasure that you would ask me. Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. Why should you be surprised?"

Sam talked some while longer about boats and camels, the desert and tents. Florence's attention moved from what he said to his fervor and his words, like mission, moral obligations, and service to the Empire. He spoke of his ambition to be part of – to make history.

She also noticed he often said _I_ and seldom said _we_.

"You _are_ going, I see, and would go alone, if necessary. Isn't that right?"

"I am determined to go, Florence, and I believe you are the perfect partner. But I must be sure you know, in-so-far as it is possible, the conditions you may face." He ran his hand across his brow and down his face. "It's another way in which I fear I may be acting with too little regard for your interests."

"Because you want me and I want you," she took a very deep breath, "and because I said I would go with you to the ends of the earth, you fear it's unfair to ask me?"

"Precisely. I also believe you will enjoy it, but if I am wrong, you must tell me."

His "mission" continued to puzzle her, and the unknown land frightened her, but parting with him would leave her desolate.

"I believe I'll enjoy it- and even if at times I don't, I'll not regret this decision."

Duleep Singh and Adrianna came to the house for a last visit before taking a steamer to Constantinople, after which Singh would go to a port on the Red Sea. Adrianna would then take a long voyage alone to Italy or France. Florence's heart ached for her. She wondered if she would ever see Adrianna again and said as much to Adrianna after dinner as they sat by the fire with their coffee.

"Never is a word I dislike!" Adrianna said, but her voice grew wistful. "Who can say when we may meet again? Be happy with Sam, and remember me, always."

"I will, of course I will. But I don't see how Duleep Singh can part with you."

"It is what must happen. I've known that from the start but did not expect to care this much."

"Is there no chance of his changing his mind?"

"None whatsoever." Adrianna lowered her eyes, and Florence took her hand, "Don't worry about me, dear. It's not the end of the world. I, too, am going home. It's a lovely place to be. Eventually I'll give parties, see friends, travel."

"I hope I will become as resilient as you are."

"I believe you are. I hope you won't require more than you have already shown. Here. I've written where I live, a place you may come to should the need arise, at any time, whether or not I am there. If you write, your letters will always reach me."

Florence couldn't speak but took her friend's hand.

### Chapter 9

Each work day brought Sam new problems. Equipment broke down and replacement parts did not arrive. For little or no cause, untrained local crews threw down their picks and shovels and went at each other with their fists. When Sam waded into a fight to pull them apart, the Barkleys made it clear they thought his behavior beneath a manager. They didn't approve his dirtying his hands, and they regarded Sam's interference as a lack of respect for their work.

"They cannot be satisfied! Their kind resent us if we act as if we're their betters, and they detest us if we don't," Sam said, "Their distrust is irrational."

There were good days, too, when he and Jack Barkley talked about hunting or about their fathers' great railroad work. So after securing Florence's consent, Sam asked the brothers to his home for dinner and was incensed by their refusal. He again blamed their resentment of class and privilege, and said he did not deserve their inverted snobbery since his own forefathers had earned their wealth and position.

So, Sam tried to steer clear of laborers trading insults and thereby to maintain the British class barriers. He tried to stay in the office, filing reports, revising plans, and requisitioning materials. The operation looked efficient on paper, yet the track-laying failed to meet deadlines.

A company director came out from England, arriving at the very moment Sam thought should have made the problem clear to all. Sam was standing above an excavation where an alert workman had found artifacts, when he saw a tall, silver-haired gentleman picking his way across the muddy ground. Charles Liddell stepped up to introduce himself, and Sam left the edge of the trench with a coin in one hand and a jawbone in the other.

"You can see what's going on here. Most of the workers will dig a straight line to hell and back unless they're given directions, but one of them alerted me to this." Sam held out the jawbone. "I've asked Henry and Jack to interpret blueprints for the workers and to instruct them. It's why they're here."

"I can see you're up against difficult conditions. I came because Price is fussing over too high costs and too few miles gained. He's a desk man, you know, and has little idea what you may face out here. Can you send the Barkleys and a crew to work another section until archaeologists are found?"

"If this were the only thing!"

"Price regards the Barkleys as first rate, and, well, let's say we had expected more progress."

"I am impatient, myself. It's hard not to be when you see history being obliterated." Sam laid the Roman coin in Liddell's hand. "What is right under our feet is not merely an annoying stretch of hardpan. It is a Roman market from Trajan's time."

That evening Sam told Florence a company executive had come out to investigate and had, Sam felt, reprimanded him. "He's disappointed in me, and rightly so."

Florence listened, and then insisted Sam should not take all the blame.

"Perhaps he would accept our hospitality. Why not ask him to come to dinner?"

"Good idea. He's a reasonable man, and over a brandy, we might get on better terms. He is a gentleman, after all."

During and after dinner, Sam and Charles talked of shooting and fishing and of ancient voyagers who found their way to this place so far from Rome. They carefully avoided talking railway business but touched on the obstacles to getting along with foreigners. When talk turned to horses, Liddell asked Florence if she got on well with animals.

"I was around horses as a child, I very much like riding. As Sam may have told you, he brought me a black mare. I call her Maia because Sam brought her here in May. We've ridden country lanes as well as the beach."

"You are enjoying this part of Europe then?"

"I love the sea."

Liddell didn't follow this by asking her where her people lived, as Sam expected he might. Instead he praised her for managing splendidly in a foreign land and added, "This end of Europe, beyond Vienna, has always seemed an untamed place – Slavic and all that."

Sam saw Florence's eyes lose their sparkle, but she said nothing to him, neither at the moment nor later.

The rest of Liddell's visit did seem to go well, but Sam decided, nevertheless, that he was not going to stay on the job but would resign soon. He had better things to think about.

In the study, books and papers piled up on desk, tables, and floor as Sam filled notebooks with information. He wrote dozens of queries and orders to suppliers, developed lists of scientific instruments and medical equipment, medicines and arms, tinned foods, air-tight containers, and canvas. He responded Florence's astonishment at how many items he deemed necessary by saying she should imagine living in a tent for a month, and then list every single item she would need for comfort as well as for survival, day and night. And then multiply it by thirty.

"Write down everything, no matter how small the need or how seldom the use. Planning well is essential to survival in an unfamiliar place for long periods of time. To live well in any place, one must equip oneself well. This means instruments and medicines as well as some foods and reading material. So think, Florence! Think what you require!"

After a week she gave him a list, commenting that much of it seemed trivial.

"Ah, but a good plan lies in its details. Remember, we are not idle tourists," he said and posited a life without markets full of familiar goods, without repairmen to fix anything that breaks. "In addition, every person we employ will have to be trained in the most rudimentary tasks. Also, we must be responsible observers. We have to discern the nature of the land, all it yields, vegetable and mineral, and make accurate records for those who follow us."

"You make it sound very difficult," she said. "I don't know how much help I can be to you."

"Much of it will become routine. You will find it exciting. You'll be amazed by how much you can do, how much you'll want to do. You and I, step by step, Florrie, will open a continent, a place so abundant in sun and water, so favored by nature, that access to it will change the world."

"You make it seem so important, as if we would make history. It frightens me a little."

"We will make history, Florence. Do not doubt it. And you will be splendid. I know it."

Sam put the lists and books in order and cleaned off the desk for Florence to use for her English lessons. When Liddell left for Budapest, Sam would go with him to talk to Price about the project and his own resignation. After that Sam would meet his brother James, who was willing to come all the way to Vienna. Primarily Sam wanted to ask James to order rifles, to be made to Sam's specifications, in Mannheim or Essen, and to ship a great many household items from England to Cairo.

Sam told Florence he would have to be away a month, perhaps more, but he did not mention his need to talk with James about her. He wanted James to know about Florence in the event that something happened to him. Sam would rely on his brother to see that she was provided for.

In addition, if all went well and he returned with Florence to England, Sam wanted James to be his ally in dealings with the family.

* * *

Florence hadn't anticipated Sam's going away. She wished Adrianna were still near during his absence, for she had been feeling melancholy. She hoped her moods were caused by the early darkness of autumn. Maybe it would be good for her to be alone so she might contemplate all the changes since Widdin, as well as the ones she would soon face.

Their time in Constanta had been idyllic. She and Sam had learned to be comfortable together in every way, from making love and taking leisurely rides through the countryside to doing their mundane tasks. Under Sam's tutelage her English had truly progressed, and their life was peaceful. Yet she was moody and tired and, in Sam's company, expended a great effort to hide it.

The least exertion left her short of breath, and the back pain she felt on awaking worsened as the day wore on.

She could think of no reason for lethargy, pain, or her mood. In Sam's absence she hoped to change: she would coddle herself, lie abed mornings, and be well by his return.

Following her first night alone, however, she awoke feeling heavy and swollen, as she sometimes did at the onset of menstrual periods, but it was ten times as severe. Ever since the farm burned, all during her captivity, her bleeding had been erratic in starting. This time it was later than ever, and this pain was apparently the consequence.

The ache turned intermittently to sharp cramps that bent her double, yet she did not bleed. Too miserable to move about, she brewed a pot of tea and read and dozed by the fire. As she drifted in and out of sleep, she became aware of stickiness between her legs.

Rousing herself, she hurried to the water closet and sat on the cold wooden seat, hugging herself and rocking in pain. She knew she was bleeding now, yet the cramps continued, and for the first time in her life she was frightened by her body.

Then a fierce paroxysm brought an end to the pain as clots of slippery tissue slid from her body. She knew in that instant that she had aborted a baby. If not that, then something was terribly wrong with her, something unnatural. She stood up, feeling shaky, washed herself, and tied a clean flannel in place. She returned to lie on the sofa and listen to her heart pound.

When Yesil arrived with full market bags, Florence said she wanted no lunch, just perhaps a light supper. Yesil peered at Florence's drawn face and wanted to help, but Florence said she was having a bad time of the month.

"Well, then," Yesil's open hands and her shrug indicated the impossibility of changing a fact of nature, "I bring more wood. And make hot your tea."

Yesil's sympathy brought tears to Florence's eyes, and when she was alone, she let them flow, whatever their cause. The hot tea warmed her body, and she yearned to sleep for hours and awake able to think clearly, yet sleep did not come. She couldn't keep from thinking of a child unborn, dead without having lived. Dead and gone like so many others from her life, but this time she had brought it about. Was it terrible to feel such relief? Relief from pain is normal and of little importance, but relief from responsibility was not to be dismissed.

It was the consequence not of her, but their, behavior; she was not alone in this! She felt a flood of resentment. Sam, the father of many children, should have known better.

Finally, she dozed off and awoke in a dark, cold house. She rose and walked slowly to the kitchen, lit an oil lamp, and added sticks of wood to the fire. As she waited for the soup to heat, she decided that her relief was reasonable and honest. She would endure guilt for the lack of caution, hers and Sam's, as well as for her inability to grieve for the unborn child.

The next morning, to her surprise, she felt quite well, her abdomen empty and not even sore, and her legs no longer wobbly.

By the time the sun had dispelled the morning mist, she was ready for a walk. The fresh air added to her sense of well being, and she headed for town with hopes of seeing a physician. She wanted to know if it was a miscarriage and if she must do anything in particular to assure her health.

When she reached town, she slowed her pace and looked down each cross street for a clue she hoped to recognize. It was not long before she saw a brass sign bolted to the white door: "SURGERY, hours 10 to 1, Anatol Czerna, M.D."

Opaque white curtains covered the lower half of the windows, and she pressed the door's brass latch. In a plain square room, benches lined two walls and were occupied by women, most of whom held infants or small children on their laps. Standing against the opposite wall, two men waited, shifting from one foot to the other and staring at the floor. The air smelled of disinfectant and of stale boiled cabbage and fried sausage, odors that clung to woolen coats that had hung in kitchens. One or two women glanced at her, neither curious nor friendly. She looked back at them, her hand still on the latch, then turned and fled into the fresh air.

In a side street she leaned against a wall while a crowd of women lugging market baskets tramped past without noticing her. She met a few others walking up the lane and tried to look as if she had a purpose there. On a street of small shops, she saw a pharmacy where a lone woman sat knitting behind the counter. Florence stopped just inside the door and spoke softly.

"Can you tell me where I can find a doctor?"

"Yah, Dr. Czerna has a surgery a few steps down that lane. Are you sick, yourself?" The woman peered sharply over her spectacles.

"No, not sick, but not well. I need to ask advice."

"Ah, what young woman doesn't, eh?" Her gaunt face split into a grin as if she'd made a joke.

"Tell me, daughter," she whispered hoarsely, "Are you in the family way? Your husband doesn't want another? Look around. I have medicines for every ailment."

Florence rushed from the shop, her face hot. She walked the gray streets hearing church bells ring the noon hour.

Where the town square opened to the harbor, she crossed over cobblestones to sit on the stone bench beside the statue of Ovid. Here was another alien, one exiled for love and for extolling love's pleasures.

" _All things change; Nothing dies,_ " she read.

She gazed at foaming surf and clouds gathering over gray water. She should have waited for the doctor. She pulled herself to her feet and trudged back to the surgery, arriving just as its door opened. A woman came out cradling a baby, and as the infant's howls of panic or pain faded into heartbroken sobs, pity gripped Florence.

It was too late now; the latch did not yield, and she turned from the door. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and, under a sky now heavy with the threat of snow, walked up the steep road to the empty house.

It would be weeks before she could look for Sam's return. She recalled having planned to use his absence to sort out her hopes for a future. Assessing what had brought her to this point, she concluded that with every step away from Widdin her hopes had grown. She hadn't really made choices as her good fortune grew, but now the coincidence of Sam's absence at this time allowed her to choose whether to tell Sam what had happened. Perhaps he had a right to know, but what if it caused him to change his mind about keeping her with him?

For the first time, Florence thought about marriage. It had taken her so long to know he wanted to love her that she hadn't wondered whether he would marry her. She thought of Adrianna's love for Singh and pondered whether being lovers ever led to marriage. But what did it matter so long as no child was born to suffer for his mother's disgrace?

She had been saved from disgrace by a baby's death.

The thought weighed so heavily she couldn't breathe. Then she imagined that Adrianna might tell her to be grateful for what happened and to learn from it.

She lay in the big bed, unable to sleep. Finally she got up, wrapped herself in a quilt, and went into the room she'd called a nursery. Lying on the narrow bed, staring at the frosted window panes, she fell asleep.

When she awoke it was morning and she put her feet on the icy floor.

She hurried to the other room for slippers and robe. Downstairs a fire blazed in the fireplace, and the kitchen stove radiated heat, and Yesil had left muffins in the warming oven. Tears sprang to her eyes.

She made a pot of tea and, as she ate a muffin, made the simple decision to count the days of the month and then to insist on Sam's using his interventions. She knew she wanted, more than anything else, to feel secure.

She wanted Sam, and that meant going to Africa. Sam wanted her, but not so much as he wanted to find the source of the Nile. She had a choice: she would not tell Sam she had miscarried.

### Chapter 10

"Marry her, man! You know word is bound to get back. Don't wait for a scandal. If you love her, marry her. If not, find her a situation and leave her."

They were in Budapest when Charles Liddell took the liberty to scold him. Sam turned away to let his anger cool. Liddell had waited until they concluded their business, and Sam knew if he'd been open with him in Constanta the rebuke might have been milder. Price had unwittingly exposed Sam's deceit by asking about his beautiful Hungarian "niece," and Liddell had not so much as blinked. But on their way back to the hotel, Liddell asked if the "niece" and Sam's lovely wife were one and the same.

Sam's admission brought on Liddell's stinging rebuke.

"I've never heard a hint of scandal connected with your name, Sam, and what I saw in Bucharest wasn't disreputable," Liddell added. "Clearly you have a woman worthy of the best treatment, a woman of grace and intelligence."

"You're right," Sam agreed, wondering uneasily if Liddell had heard of Val's escapades and found them disreputable. "I've bungled this. I'm not in the habit of behaving like a bounder."

"I believe that, Sam, but you had better set matters right before you take your woman to Cairo. The British there are a tight little community, and you may be sure word will get back, if not to your family, to your London friends and associates. Her reputation will be beyond recovery."

Liddell was right; however, he must know there was no way to undo the harm. Sam's embarrassment led him to apologize:

"I assure you I'll set matters right, Charles. You are a good friend to speak your mind to me."

It was indeed, too late, and Sam saw that marrying Florence now would not render her immediately acceptable to his family.

As for the social stigma, friends would make allowances for a mistress, and still they might very well judge his behavior to be less than honorable.

On the train to Vienna, Liddell's words and the chagrin of having his duplicity exposed unsettled him. He has been eager to see James, the brother whose approval he most valued. Now their meeting was shadowed by Sam's guilt for having used Europe's harsh winter as an excuse for not going to England. That, too, was a lie. He had been cowardly. He resolved now that he would talk openly with James and hoped for James's understanding, even though it would do little to ease Sam's conscience. In any case, he knew he could trust James to make things right with Min and the girls.

On the train platform James greeted Sam effusively, clapping him on the back and hurrying him through the snow to the waiting hack.

"I have a surprise for you, Sam, just wait!"

"I may have one for you too," Sam said as soon as they were on the way to the hotel. "I have made up my mind to go to Africa, mount my own expedition."

"That is great news, Sam! And you've decided to go it on your own?"

Sam then poured out his plan to leave within a year and enumerated several ways James could help him to provision the expedition.

"I have written out my specifications for rifles – you know the African elephant quite different from the Asian one, and bigger. I also require the usual measuring instruments and some surgical supplies. I have a list I hope you can fill, maybe in Sheffield or Sweden, or here on the continent. I know you'll be able to locate them."

"I'm at your service, Sam. I can't tell you how good it is to see you in top form again. The European junket apparently was what you needed, and I heartily approve your decision to get on with your plans. We want to hear all about it."

Sam noted that James said _we_ and was smiling enigmatically as the small wrought iron cage bore them to the third floor. He hoped James hadn't brought his wife, for much as Sam admired Louisa, he did not want to be the one to tell her about Florence. "What are you grinning about, James?"

"You'll see in a moment."

When James opened the door to their rooms, Sam saw Valentine rising from a chair and striding toward them.

"A few weeks later, Sam, and I'd have been in Ireland! It is splendid to be able to see you," Val said and grasped Sam's shoulders firmly and then hugged him.

Val's feet were bare below his narrow tan uniform trousers, and his tunic was draped on the back of a chair near his polished black boots. His curly hair looked tumbled, and his clear blue eyes shone under heavy lids that gave the impression he'd been asleep. Val looked fit and so handsome that Sam thought, as he often had, how hard it must be for a woman to resist such a man.

"I couldn't imagine a finer surprise! Tell me about yourself. Where will you be in Ireland?"

"Just outside of Dublin. I look forward to it, even though the land has seen some hard times. And isn't Vienna a fine place for our reunion?"

"Fine indeed, although it must be a brief one. I have much to tell you both, most of it in strict confidence."

"Not trouble, I hope," James said.

"Don't worry, this is steady Sam. _I_ am the wicked brother," Val laughed, "though at the moment, so far as I know, I'm not in any trouble."

"Good," Sam said, "take care to keep it that way when you're in Ireland."

"Maybe an Irish lass would settle you down," James teased, "but don't think for a moment Min would be glad for one of them in the family."

"That's more than enough about me. Let's hear what Sam has to tell us."

Valentine dropped into a chair and poured drinks from a bottle on the low table. Sam took off his coat and picked up a glass but continued to stand while James joined them.

"Cheers."

James immediately told Val about Sam's plan, and for some time they engaged in discussing the last unknown place left on earth. They spoke of the Nile's mystery in ancient times and then of the present and opportunities for economic development that would bring Christianity to the continent and eradicate the slave trade.

"My ambition is modest," Sam said. "I'll use what skills I have as botanist, geologist, and geographer, but primarily, I hope to study the people and the places, act as an ethnographer, if you will, and meet the savage as he is. I do approach this expedition in many ways but, my dear brothers, my dream is to locate the headwaters of the Nile."

At midnight, back from a long conversation over the many dinner courses, Sam poured them a nightcap. They were quiet now, all talked out, it seemed, as they stood in the middle of the room, and Sam finally said what was on his mind:

"I am fortunate to have found a companion for the long sojourn in the wilds."

While they waited to hear more, Sam stepped away from them and looked out the window at the falling snow for several minutes before again facing them.

"Her name is Florence. She is a refugee from first, the Hungarian Revolution and then the Balkan uprisings. Despite cruel hardships, she is gentle and charming and possessed of a lively wit and fine intelligence. And she is, I believe you will agree when you meet, quite beautiful."

"You mean to marry before you go to Africa?" James said, looking perplexed.

"I don't think that's exactly what Sam is saying, old boy."

Val was addressing James, but he had tilted his head to look into Sam's face, and his eyes were narrowed in speculation. "Sam said she is his _companion_."

"We have not discussed marriage, but she is ready to go to Africa with me."

"Then I'd say you may be the luckiest man alive," Val said, "but somehow I suspect you see a dilemma in it somewhere."

"I want her to go with me, of course, but it may not be the best thing for a woman to do."

"You do mean to marry her, don't you?" James asked. "Jamie, old boy, the essence is that he _doesn't_ mean to. Isn't that right, Sam?"

"What do you know?" James demanded of Val. "Have you ever thought for ten consecutive minutes about marrying?"

"Stop it!" Sam snapped. "Whatever your opinions are, they interest me, but your quibbles do not. Let me tell you the entire story."

Sam began with the day in Widdin when he went to witness the lustful infidels' purchase of children. Then, in detail, he described the moment he saw a pale child about to be sold into slavery, and he finished his report with his leaving her, not a child but a young woman, in their house while he came to meet them in Vienna. He spared no details of his desire to possess her and his struggle to resist. He admitted vacillating and rationalizing and ultimately surrendering. He told them of his recent scene with Charles Liddell.

"So, there it is. I led this innocent young woman into a situation, the consequences of which she has little notion, and to which I see no simple conclusion."

"Do you love her, Sam? Enough to marry her, I mean?" James asked.

"I hadn't expected to marry again. One family is enough for any man. And now it is a trifle late; her reputation may already be ruined."

"Good God, Sam, answer James's question! Here is a ready solution: If you want her with you, marry her! What's the bloody problem?"

"I wouldn't have framed the question just the way Val has done, Sam," James added, "but I would like to know."

The vehemence of the brothers' responses stunned Sam. Yet he knew he had to answer.

"So you both believe I should marry this young woman of uncertain background, a foreigner, and bring her home to my children? She is only a few years older than Edith. Think of one so young as their stepmother! I have not been able to imagine how the family would receive her."

"I doubt that her age is what would matter to either Edith or Florence. Do you really believe this woman you love is so unacceptable?"

"No, James, not at all. But my view has little chance of being shared by our sister, maybe not my daughters, either. In addition, I am not at all certain Florence would care to live in England."

"When is it _you_ last wanted to live in England?" Val asked. "Marry her and take her to live elsewhere. Take her where men don't study your pedigree before offering their hand. Then invite your daughters to come with you."

"I do think, Sam, your reasons for not marrying are less than compelling. Consider what Val has suggested." James spoke slowly, "If compassion led you to rescue her, surely you don't mean to abandon her. Clearly, she hasn't the experience to know the perils she might face, in England or in Africa. You must clarify matters. At the very least, you must not abandon her no matter what she decides."

"You cannot imagine I would abandon her! I realize I have not earned high marks for honor. But I've tried never to mislead her and have certainly explained all the hazards of going on the African trip. And my friends would no more consider her immoral than you and I do. Society's rules are not binding on a subject so entirely personal as affectionate sex."

"Perhaps. Nevertheless, there are dangers in an illicit relationship," James said. "Despite the profligacy of your friend the Prince, our Queen makes no allowances for any woman she sees as 'compromised.'"

"I agree with James," Val added, "Florence can have no inkling as to how her behavior might be perceived by our proper British society!"

"You're a fine one to mention that," Sam snapped.

"You might very well say that, dear brother. But _I_ never put a hand on a woman who didn't know exactly what it meant!"

"Sorry to have taken a whack at you, Val. Forgive me. I'm feeling like a scoundrel. Tell me what you think the rest of the family would say to my marrying again."

"Just what _we_ say, Sam! Marry her. When you bring her home, your girls will take to her as you obviously have. And if Min or anyone else won't accept your choice, it will be their loss."

"I am sure that is excellent advice, and I ask only that you keep my secret until the appropriate time."

"Why shouldn't you count on us?" Val asked, laying an arm across Sam's shoulders, "When we so often looked to you for aid or advice, you never failed us."

"Let's put the subject aside and get to bed," James suggested. "If Sam wants to, we'll talk tomorrow, what say?"

Back on the train a few days later, Sam felt better for having shared his problem with his brothers, though their advice was stronger than he'd expected. It was now clear to him that he might have told Florence of his ambivalence toward marriage that night in Constanta, but it would have led to the admission that she was unlikely to fit into his family. So he had tried to tell her only why he considered it unfair, less than honorable, to make love to her. One excuse was as weak as the next, and he had been fooling himself. The simple truth was that he was neither ready to marry nor able to give her up.

Dammit, he was definitely not prepared to lose her!

* * *

Winter on the Black Sea was milder than elsewhere in the region, a pleasant surprise to Florence, who expected sharp freezing winds and sudden blizzards. Sam told her the mountains on the north kept away some of the cold and the sea was somehow a warming factor. She mentioned this to Yesil, who told her it was warm because the rich had vacation places on the sea.

However there were occasional days when gusts of wind off the sea brought cold rain. Florence was glad Sam had thought to hire a groom who could exercise both horses. In the first few weeks after the miscarriage, she couldn't have ridden, but since then she had resumed riding in almost any weather. She was happy to be out while Yesil cleaned house, and being in the fresh air helped her to sleep better and have fewer bad dreams. The bad ones were always the same: the curtains in flames or the coach tumbling down the mountainside. Lately, however, she also dreamed of her father or mother, alive and smiling at her. When she reached out to touch them, they would fade away, leaving her alone and empty handed.

One blustery afternoon as she sat at the desk paging through her grammar book, Florence heard hooves clattering on the drive and opened the door just as Sam stepped from a coach. Within moments she was in his arms, breathing in the wintry freshness mixed with the aroma of tobacco and Bay Rum. She had expected to be elated by her first sight and his first touch but hadn't known her worries to slip off like a discarded shawl. In his arms she was safe.

Yet that night when she fell asleep in Sam's embrace, a new dream, no less terrible than the others, caused her to cry out. It woke them both, and Sam wrapped himself around her and, to calm her tremors, urged her to tell him her dream.

"It was about Marie, walking with me in a field. I think we had the old cow with us, and Marie's sox kept slipping down into her shoes. She whined and I told her not to and walked away from her. She called out to me, and I went back and couldn't find her, so I started calling her."

"My poor dearest, it was only a dream."

"No, the parts were just jumbled together. You and I could not find her, and then Marie and I found a cow that bellowed to be milked. We were so hungry. I told Marie the cow meant that good things could still happen to us. I always promised to care for her."

"You did all you could, Florrie," Sam said and stroked her hair.

She lay still, comforted by Sam's body curved around hers, and she probed her mind in search of reasons for her dreams. Did they mean to disturb her easy acceptance of this good life or were they reminders that loss and sorrow come without warning and she must not expect it to last. But she wanted it to be possible to accept the good, not to question but to enjoy what she could.

If Sam needed to wander the world and wanted her with him, she would go – to Africa or any other place. She had no problems or worries. What more could anyone want?

Sam told her his negotiations in Budapest would soon free him of his railway position. He talked about his two brothers and then showed her a list of tasks James had agreed to take on.

"He will arrange shipments to Cairo for all of it, and so now I may devote more time to planning. Within a year we should be in Egypt! Nothing can divert us from our goal, Florence."

"As soon as that?"

"Second thoughts?"

"No, really not, I'm eager to go."

"So is there something else on your mind?"

She hesitated a moment before saying there was "something." Leaving the maps and lists already piling up on the desk, she went into the sitting room. She stood by the fire, knowing he would follow her and collecting the words she'd practiced. When he came, she looked into his eyes and, comforted by their warmth, broached her subject.

"Have you ever considered that we might have a child?"

"I have, but I doubt this is a good time for it."

"In other words, you do not want another child?"

"Florence, are you pregnant?"

"No, I'm not. But we _have_ been rather rash, at times."

"I didn't say I did not want a child. But now is not a time for that. I promise I'll be more careful."

"Thank you, Sam. I do agree it would be inconvenient."

"I did not say a child would be inconvenient. But I am aware that pregnancies often are ill-timed. But I wouldn't put them in a category with warring tribes or hungry lions. Women give birth in many an uncivilized place, and if that happens, I will go to any lengths to keep you healthy and safe wherever we are. Do you understand?"

"But, if I had a child, we'd become a burden."

"Oh, my dear, you tear my heart out! Were you to bear my child, do you imagine I would feel you or the child a burden?"

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I worry."

"You mustn't. Please believe what I've said about planning for and preparing to live comfortably anywhere."

"Oh, Sam, I do love you."

"Then trust me to care for you whatever happens. I will do all I can to protect and comfort you, to keep you safe."

Florence believed he had made a promise.

* * *

As Sam took her in his arms and covered her face with kisses, he truly meant to keep his promises. He was aware of how much those words sounded like the marriage vows he had once taken and had tried to keep. The inconveniences and dangers in Ceylon hadn't burdened him, and it hadn't come to his attention that they might burden Harriette. He had meant then and intended now to keep his promises and to be aware of how heavily the burdens might lie on others.

* * *

They sailed out of the port of Constanta aboard a cargo vessel bound for the Bosporus. For three days they walked the decks and watched birds winging through the wake to scavenge the bilge water. Each evening they dined at the captain's table and listened to the officers talk about their voyages.

Florence spent her days on deck either watching the sea or reading a book. sit for long.

But Sam, unaccustomed to idleness, was unable to He'd lay his book face down on the chaise and pace the deck, or he'd go to the cabin to ransack his bags for something that might need his attention. After meals he circled the decks, counting the laps, and the moment the door closed on their cabin each night, he pulled her close to him and unpinned her hair.

In Constantinople, they took rooms in a hotel where Sam had stayed years before on his way to the Crimea. It pleased him to see the staff fawn over Florence, though it caused her to blush. They visited ancient mosques and old, narrow market streets where they bargained in cluttered stalls for beautifully crafted brass pitchers, leatherwork, and textiles. Their rooms filled with rugs, fabrics, and implements for the expedition. Sam packed boxes and crates, marking them with letters and numbers, and Florence recorded each item's location in a ledger and ticked it off on the lists. Finally everything was hauled to the pier.

The next morning Sam left their rooms with an attache case filled with papers verifying his ownership of crates and boxes held in a warehouse at the port, and after customs he went to another office to secure an exit visa for Florence. He used all he had of patience as well as a generous sum of money, certain that the latter would be the more persuasive, yet the official remained reluctant. Then Sam produced his receipt from the Widdin auction, and the official understood and supplied papers identifying Florence as his wife.

At the end of January 1861, they sailed for Alexandria on the _Luxor_ , a larger and more impressive vessel than the Black Sea steamer. A uniformed purser led them along the polished teak decks, up outside stairs to the next deck, and over a threshold to a carpeted companionway. Brass brackets supported mahogany handrails that ran along the corridors from one stateroom door to the next, and in their cabin, bronze lamps were bolted to tables with piecrust edges. Broad web belts lay across the bunks to hold them in their beds, and in the bathroom nickel railings and brackets kept glasses and bottles in place. Sam enjoyed watching Florence discover all the ship's fittings and, once they were under way, seeing her delight in the sea itself. She often stood at the rail making sure not to miss a bird swoop over their wake or an island rise from the dark blue waters.

He looked forward to seeing her responses to Egypt's wonders.

### Chapter 11

Egypt

Florence and Sam stood at the starboard rail as the ship edged into a berth in Alexandria's west harbor. Pressing close around them, women passengers waved hands and handkerchiefs to attract the eyes of friends or relatives at the customs barrier. On the pier, stevedores secured the ship's lines or waited with hand trucks near the cargo hatches. On the pier almost directly below them, several men in turbans waited while small boys set up displays and called to the passengers.

"What's happening down there, Sam? What are the men preparing for?"

"They're magicians, galli-galli men to entertain you."

"Look! Over there— one has a snake around his neck!"

The nearest galli-galli man folded back the wide sleeves of his caftan, revealing arms as pale as her own, though his face was dark as mahogany, and Florence asked Sam about it.

"Levantines are of many races, white, brown, black. They come from all directions, drawn to the Mediterranean for commerce and access to other worlds. Now only they can distinguish among them; we can't begin to."

The magician raised his face toward the passengers, tracing arabesques in the air with his hands and chanting until he drew the crowd's attention. Then he put his fingertips to his mouth, his cheeks ballooned, and he drew forth a little yellow chick and placed it gently on his shoulder. He repeated the actions, using his right hand, then the left, until a row of downy yellow chicks lined up on each shoulder and one perched atop his turban.

Florence applauded, and when others threw money down to the pier, she plucked at Sam's sleeve.

"Sam, please toss him some coins."

The galli-galli man's boy caught some coins in mid-air and scrambled for the rest at the magician's feet while a magician a few feet away brandished a pair of swords, tossing them high in the air. He tilted his head back and thrust a sword down his throat and then withdrew it slowly and bowed as another shower of coins pelted down. Still another man pulled colored scarves from his sleeves, and Sam dug in his pocket for more coins.

While Sam went to the purser for their papers, she remained at the rail, watching magicians leave and dock workers arrive, wheeling the gangway in place. When the crowd around her surged toward the head of the ramp, Florence had to grip the rail with both hands to remain in place until she caught sight of Sam working his way through to her.

"Time to join the mob, but if the baggage steward has done his job, we won't be long in customs. I arranged for most of our baggage to be sent on to Cairo. Did you enjoy the show?"

"Yes, but the first man was best."

"We'll stay only long enough to see the sights," he said, taking her elbow as they shuffled forward.

In a hack on the way to the Hotel Metropole, the driver pointed out the site of the ancient Pharos.

"Writers in the third century B.C. said the light was visible forty miles out on the sea," Sam told her.

"One of the seven wonders!"

"Only the site is left. An earthquake destroyed the lighthouse 500 years ago, along with the causeway Alexander built to reach it."

As they turned toward the city Florence remarked that the sea and the land seemed to glow. "The colors are so intense."

"That's an effect of the sea, a refraction. Painters come here because of this phenomenon, as they do to France's Riviera. You'll notice something similar on the desert when the winds die and the air is clear."

"It's not what I expected to see in Africa."

In the mid-day heat of Alexandria, the broad avenues leading to the hotel were filled with men in pale suits and women who carried parasols and looked like pictures. Sam remarked that it always seemed like a holiday in Alexandria.

"Because it is still chilly weather in Cairo or their servants are observing Ramadan, wealthy people come here, many to their villas on the strand. It's an international community."

The next day a hired trap took them east along the coast road to the viceroy's palace. On the beach, cabanas of striped canvas were wheeled into the water to allow women in bathing dresses to slip modestly into the surf. On their right, villas rose behind walls draped with purple bougainvillea. Turning from side to side, Florence tried not to miss a thing.

"I'm not ready for this, Sam, meeting a stranger with a palace and a title."

"We are merely making a courtesy call. He is head of the government in this region. We'll be presented, but I doubt he'll take any interest in either of us."

At the palace a white-robed servant ushered them into a marble foyer where gilt-framed mirrors reflected bouquets in porcelain urns. Bowing, the servant backed from the room as a second one entered through an arched doorway.

"His Highness has gone to the mineral springs at Fayoum," he said in a crisp Oxford accent, "and will not be at home today. Please leave your card, sir." He gestured toward a silver tray below a portrait of a vizier.

"His Highness will receive you at another time."

When they were once more in the sunshine, Florence smiled when Sam told her he might return, if he found it convenient.

In the next few days, they visited historic sites, window shopped, and took coffee in street cafes. It wasn't long before Sam complained that idleness made him restless and impatient. He didn't mention the viceroy again, and on the fourth day they eagerly boarded the train to Cairo.

Seated on upholstered but rigid seats in a first-class coach, Florence watched the outskirts of the city move past her dusty window. The countryside appeared unchanged from how it must have looked centuries ago. In the fields, water buffalo pulled plows and turned water wheels, and they saw an Archimedes screw lifting water over the dyke. Tiered dove-cotes rose atop houses the color of the land, and on river banks, barefoot women in long black garments walked regally and carried clay water jugs on their heads. Along the dirt roads boys in long white gowns brandished sticks at donkeys carrying bundles of leafy stalks on their backs.

"This is only the start, Florrie. Isn't it splendid?"

"Oh yes! They're farming the way they have for centuries. It's as if the books I've seen are coming to life. We've come so far and traveled backward in time."

In Cairo, a cab took them along streets where buildings rose alongside narrow thoroughfares, and yet whole families appeared to spend their lives on the streets. Men sat in front of small cafes, drinking from tiny cups while they played a game, their tiles clicking on the tables. Women swathed in black sat close together on the curbs, talking and holding their babies. Aromas of jasmine and coffee drifted above the dusty streets with their reek of manure dropped by donkeys.

"Not as beautiful as Alexandria, eh? But this is their way of enjoying life. It will change in a few blocks. Our hotel, Shepheard's, is beside the Azbakiyah Gardens." Sam said and added another of his history lessons, this one of more recent times.

"Sixty years ago the hotel was Napoleon's headquarters. We have him to thank for driving out the Turks, but still the French never got on well here. Napoleon wanted to ruin our access to the East, and we destroyed his fleet."

"Why were the British here?"

"We are here now. Egypt is a country under our protection, and it has its own rulers. There are some French influences, as you'll see, and the Turks remain here, though not in control."

"Shouldn't a protectorate do something, protect somebody? I mean the poor people."

"Of course, one does what one can. People are poor in every part of the world. It's one reason the British Empire tries to bring new ways to them. And we must keep and protect our own rights to a route to our colonies in the East."

"Are there many poor in England, too?"

"The poor are always with us, my dear, as you know. Here we are at last!"

The brougham stopped under dusty plane trees where a wide gravel path led to the veranda of a two-story stone building. A dark green awning was supported by iron spikes, real spears that may have once been wielded by Mamelukes. The louvered shutters were closed over the windows, making the place looked deserted, but when they reached the top step, two doormen in gallabiahs and turbans opened the double doors and bowed them into a lobby.

Florence recalled the hall where she first saw Sam, but here brass was untarnished, colored glass in the lamps gleamed, and no pashas lolled on the brocade divans. As they crossed the thick carpet to the reception desk, her every step gave rise to specks that danced briefly in the light.

"Look, Sam, dust motes rise when you step on the rug."

"Not dust, Florrie, fleas, sand fleas. Annoying little buggers until you get used to them."

"That's what's wrong! My legs itch and sting. It's getting to be more than I can bear."

Under her skirts she rubbed one leg against the other, and the minute the door to their room closed, she lifted all the skirts and yanked her stockings down. A row of red welts had risen at her boot tops and behind her knees.

"Oh, they're awful!"

"Try not to scratch."

"Not scratch!"

"You'll only infect them, and they'll not itch any less."

She raked them with her nails, until thin, bloody lines appeared and relieved the pain. By the next morning blisters and welts clustered in her armpits and around her waist; at any place where a belt or fold impeded their progress, the tiny creatures had fed. Neither tincture of green soap nor bicarbonate paste eased the itch for long. She was not going to let herself whine about it, but Sam's bland admonishments not to scratch irritated her, too.

It was unfair that he seemed immune to their poison. But at least their sleeping room had no carpets or heavy drapes, and polished floors and filmy curtains harbored few fleas.

The day after their arrival, they walked a few blocks to Government House where Sam would present their papers and travel plans to the British Consul. He explained to Florence that with no official sponsor for his expedition, he felt no need to reveal his private goals. He would declare that it was his purpose to hunt big game and catalog the wildlife of Upper Egypt.

The British compound was empty at mid-morning, but a muddy circle around each shrub indicated gardeners had recently watered them. At the entrance, the iron portcullis had been raised, and a rotund black doorman in an immaculate white gallabiah opened double doors that bore the crest of the Empire.

They were left in a long, dim room with windows shuttered against the sun. Sam paced and casually looked at portraits of English Consuls while Florence pulled off her white gloves and surreptitiously plucked at her close-fitting sleeves and shirtwaist.

"Don't scratch," Sam hissed.

"I'm not!"

She pulled her gloves on again and looked composed as a door opened and closed silently behind a bony man in a white linen suit. His pink eyelids blinked rapidly as he addressed Sam in a reedy voice.

"Mr. Baker, the Consul will see you tomorrow morning at this hour if you will be so good as to return."

He had emphasized ever so slightly the _you_ and did not so much as dart an eye toward Florence. He then took small, quick steps to the door and inclined his head slightly, awaiting Sam's response.

"Whatever Sir Robert wishes. I am sure he is busy."

Although he kept the irony out of his voice, Sam's eyes were sharp and cold, his face impassive, and Florence knew he was angry. She was annoyed, too, that he had completely ignored her. With lifted chin and straight back, she walked past the man without a glance.

"Another nasty aide, Sam? Is it possible I am truly invisible?"

"Florence, I am sorry. I believe we have both been snubbed, but Colquhin is a moody old hypochondriac. He may actually have been there and didn't want to see anyone. His factotum, like every minor official, tends to be officious whenever he can. A real Malvolio."

"What is a factotum? A Malvolio?"

"A factotum is a fancy name for an assistant. Malvolio is a character in a Shakespeare play, one who makes himself ridiculous by overestimating his own importance." They walked in silence for a few minutes before Sam added, "I've an idea: let's sit in the hotel gardens and have an English lesson – if I can locate our copy of 'Twelfth Night.'"

"So Malvolio – he was English, too?"

"Yes, my dear," Sam admitted, "he was, at least, the product of an English writer's wit."

* * *

When Sam did see Colquhin, the Consul apologized for having delayed Sam and declared himself ready to make amends and to cooperate fully. He would request the same courtesy from the Viceroy of Lower Egypt.

"You will receive, through my offices, a firman from Said Pasha. It will grant you freedom to traverse lands controlled by Egyptians and their Turkish subordinates. You will need another for Upper Egypt, if you go that far."

"That would be in Khartoum, I suppose."

"Yes. There, they are even more suspicious of British motives. Moosa Pasha, the Governor General, is a despot who benefits from the slave trade. They're slavers, one and all, either in the thick of the business or are being paid off. In passing through their territories, you will be regarded as a threat to their livelihood." Sir Robert sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a bony forefinger. "However, even there, they do not directly challenge our power, and John Petherick, our Consul in Khartoum, is an excellent man."

"I appreciate your aid, Sir. I shall hire Nubian servants, for I understand they can be trusted. We will not create any disturbances."

"Yes, the Nubians scorn Arabs as well as Turks."

"So much the better."

"Baker, on other matters: I have two things to say." The consul shifted uneasily in the high-backed chair and dabbed at the corners of his narrow mouth. "First and foremost, in regard to your companion: I advise you to be very discreet about being seen in public with her, and I warn you not to present her in official circles."

Sam shot up out of his chair and drew a breath that swelled his chest. With color rising to his face, he looked down at the Consul.

"Sir Robert, were I you, I should say no more," Sam said, but he did not sit down.

"Oh, do sit down, Baker. Hear me out. I see your feelings are involved, in which case, you have an easy choice: marry her. If you remain away from England long enough, the rumors will die. Which brings me to an ancillary matter concerning your entire safari: I hope you have considered that the interior of this beastly continent is no place to take a woman, and certainly not one without the protection of your name."

"You've seen the travel documents. She is listed as my wife."

"Ah, yes, Ottoman documents."

"Is it possible, sir, that you suggest my name on a proper document will protect a woman from everything from gossip to tsetse flies?"

"Hold on, Baker. I regret having angered you, but you have no call to sneer at my advice. Think what the fate of any woman would be out there if something were to happen to her protector."

"I have thought, sir, and will do my best to keep her safe from black savages as well as Turks. As to the decision to take her with me, I did not force it. I counseled her – I painted the difficulties and perils blacker than I suppose them actually to be. She has chosen to be with me in this adventure. She comes freely, more freely than a woman bound by mere vows and duty, as are wives of some foreign service officers.'' Sam bent in a token bow. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have much to do. Again, I thank you for securing the documents."

"I truly am sorry to have offended you," Colquhin sighed wearily. "I hope you will think over what I've said."

He did appear genuinely sorry, and Sam's anger abated. "I'm not a foolish man, Sir Robert. I go prepared for whatever dangers we may face. We won't suffer constant hardship, for, in addition to our health and ingenuity, we take much more than bare essentials. We have the best equipment and provisions, and with reasonable effort and foresight, I am convinced we can live well any place."

The consul slowly shook his head and sighed. "I detest this whole land – primitive place, beastly climate. And by the way, my own wife freely chose _not_ to come. But I wish you success, Sam Baker." Sir Robert put out his hand. "May God be with you."

Sam did not discuss the conversation with Florence. While waiting for their papers to arrive, they visited mosques and ruins. They behaved as travelers do, but all the while Sam was thinking how easily they might make a home here. They could have a house built and furnished by the local craftsmen; he imagined tiled terraces with pools and plashing fountains, rooms with hand-wrought furnishings. His brother Val was right: Sam didn't seem likely to settle in England for any length of time.

* * *

Walking the narrow paths of the Mousky looking at leather goods and copperware crafts, Florence felt, for the first time in her life, a hunger to own things just because they were intricate and unique to an exotic place. In open shops, boys in crocheted skull caps and long shirts sat cross-legged and intent as they engraved designs on metal trays and bowls amid displays of a hundred more. She peered into stalls where dozens of leather bags hung from walls and ceiling, and she thought of uses for the different sizes and shapes and bought several.

"It's a feeling I'm not used to, Sam. I'm greedy. I want things that will make Egypt my own."

"Your desires are very moderate. Wanting to own handsome, well-made objects isn't greed." He led her through the open door of a goldsmith's shop. "Let's find you something splendid."

The shop keeper greeted them with an offer of mint tea, and they sat beside a table only the size of the tray a boy placed before them. They sipped the tea from tiny cups while Sam and the merchant talked about gold and silver and semiprecious stones. When the boy took away the tea tray, he covered the table with a soft black cloth on which the jeweler laid gold necklaces, rings, and bracelets.

"Now choose what you like best, Florence, and our host will tell you the meaning of its design."

She admired each piece and listened to the stories of their origins, a dynasty, tradition, or history. Then she selected an engraved oval brooch set with a single ruby.

Sam insisted she also have an antique scarab pendant, a symbol of eternal life.

Later when they stood under the delicate arches of Ibn Toulun Mosque, he took a little black silky bag from his pocket and showed Florence a gold ring. He reached for her hand, and she hesitated, thinking it like a wedding ring. Her eyes questioned his.

"Please wear it, Florence. It is a gift of love, a symbol. "

He glanced at the ancient pillars.

She gave him her hand.

"Allah is our witness."

One morning they were ferried across the Nile to the west bank to see the sphinx and the three pyramids. They rented a pair of Arabian horses from stables near the Great Pyramid and rode south twenty miles across the empty desert to the ziggurat at Saqqarah. All around lay nothing but sand and rock and a few scraggly palms. The guide and camels rested in the shade of the step pyramid while Florence and Sam circled its base, picking mummy beads from the sand. On their return they rode a little farther east and passed four white men talking in German as they laid out a dig, marking off squares in the sand with string and stakes. Florence questioned Sam about their work.

"What you see them doing is about all I know of archeology,"

Sam said, "Whereas in many sciences – botany, geology and so on—I am truly an amateur."

She took his words literally and found them puzzling. "You mean you haven't come to love archeology?"

"You're quite right, an amateur loves being expert but not professional. I meant only that I claim no knowledge of this particular science and cannot answer your questions."

Florence realized she wished to know everything and that it was true of Sam, too. The many centuries of Egyptian dynasties were overwhelming her.

At the Citadel as well as at Giza, while treading on the sands and poking about among tombs, she had shivered to think they were walking on thirty-some centuries of history.

Days later in partially excavated Roman ruins, they were startled to see a man wearing the black cassock of a priest in a passageway. He smiled at them and using precise English, pointed out the intricacies of the vault's groin and explained how to recognize Roman brick-laying. Sam thanked him for presenting such authoritative information and asked how he happened to be there that morning.

"You are obviously a priest, not a tour conductor."

"Our abbey is located here, and we take our custodial duties seriously. We are Orthodox Christians, of course, and priests, like rabbis, are teachers. We enjoy meeting interested visitors. I believe you are both interested in ancient places, respect them, and you feel their spiritual power."

He spoke slowly, and his eyes, which were almost as black as his clothing and hair, glowed with warmth. He continued to look into their eyes and made no move to leave.

"We are interested in history, Father, you're right about that," Sam said. "But I don't believe I've ever thought of myself as spiritual."

"Perhaps, yet you are a thinker and a person of deep feelings, as is your partner." He looked at Florence. "Madame, what would you say about your spiritual self? I see your soul in your eyes when you look at your husband."

"He has my heart and soul, Father."

"And you have his, and so your souls are one." He turned to Sam. "Is that not true?"

"We are not married, which, in an uncanny way, I think you know," Sam replied. "Is that not true, too?"

"Ah, but you have chosen to belong to one another, and God sees that." He made the sign of the cross in the air. "May God's blessings be upon you. Take care of one another in the difficult times ahead."

He turned and disappeared beyond a turn in the cavern, and Sam bent to kiss Florence gently on the lips. She felt she'd been hypnotized by the priest's eyes and by his knowing her feelings. She hoped what he said about Sam's was true, too.

### Chapter 12

The Nile, April 1861

At six a.m. on Monday, April 15, 1861, Florence walked across the planks to the deck of a dahabiah that was to be their new home. At each end of the broad-beamed boat two enormous sails were rigged like the lateens on fellucas that transported bales of cotton, baskets of dates, crates of fowl, and sometimes passengers on their decks. However, even with more than one sail, the dahabiah was too large and heavy to skim with the speed of the graceful fellucas. It maneuvered like a barge, Sam had told her, but its great hull enclosed ample living quarters as well as storage holds.

She descended a narrow half-flight of steps and entered a passageway between the galley and servants' quarters and living quarters she and Sam would occupy. Turning right, she entered the saloon, a cabin the full width of the boat and furnished with couches along the sides below the windows.

A table and six chairs occupied the floor space between. Built-in shelves and drawers in the bulkheads flanked doors at each end of the room, and Florence passed through to a passage leading to three cabins, one of them Sam's office. In the largest cabin, she tossed her bonnet and gloves on a big bunk and stowed her small carry-all in the wardrobe. She saw there was a place where her hat belonged, just as there was for every other item brought to these quarters.

Back on the main deck, she climbed a short ladder to their the roof and was on a deck with a white canvas stretched over it and rolled in drop-curtains on the sides, and shoved against a back wall were a small table, four rattan chairs, and a stack of blue cushions. Noticing that the deck provided a nearly 360' view, she pulled two chairs to the starboard rail and plopped cushions on them, saying _starboard_ aloud, conscious of her need to learn yet another vocabulary. She could see the landing and the main deck except for a part the pilot house obscured, and she sat down to watch Sam and his crew prepare for their departure.

On the pier, his feet set wide apart and arms waving, their dragoman Mustafa shouted orders to the _amaalas_ , who looked like boys of twelve. Their long garments were looped between their thighs like a baby's diapers, and their legs were sinewy, their feet bare. They toted heavy, bulky loads up the plank and into the holds, and despite Mustafa's surly shouts, they laughed and jostled one another playfully.

Florence saw Achmed, the young Nubian they'd chosen to be their cook, coming up the ladder from the galley where he had probably been arranging equipment. He and the serving boys shared two cabins beside the galley.

He saw her looking down at him, and he bowed politely, and his handsome square face broke into a wide grin. He moved gracefully, almost regally, among the crates. Florence suspected that while she was "training him" to meet Sam's expectations, she would be learning more than Arabic.

Tied up astern of the dahabiah were the two noggurs, bargelike boats Sam had named "Clumsy I and Clumsy II." On the first were cargo holds and quarters for guards, sailors, and drovers. Clumsy II was loaded with the feed for the lambs, goats, and poultry, all now penned on or below its deck. Florence called it their barnyard.

Across from the mooring lay Gezirah island where the river eddied and purled around its rocky shore in conflicting winds and currents. The setting sun glinted on the spires of mosques and on the rooftops of Zamalek, a community on the island's south end. The pier was now cleared of trunks and cargo crates, and women and children pushed forward for last glimpses of their men who were on the decks coiling hawsers that had secured the boats. As the wind ruffled the big sails, women began their ululating farewell, and it rose and floated after them, fading as the boats passed Gezirah's southern tip and picked up speed.

Sam smiled as he climbed up to the top deck and dropped into a chair with a satisfied sigh.

"We're on our way, Florrie, to explore a continent."

"How peaceful it is, and Cairo not yet out of sight."

"Indeed. It's magic the minute you cast off."

Their eyes met again and again as they watched broad-winged egrets swooping above bulrushes and boys herding sheep marked with red dye on their woolly backs. In midstream a felucca glided swiftly downstream, its sails furled and decks loaded. Others heading upstream overtook the dahabiah and noggurs, and those aboard it waved and shouted.

* * *

Each day Sam logged their progress and recorded temperatures at noon and two hours after sunset. He described the changing hills and estimated their height and the extent of palm groves and cane fields. With the passing days and miles, the heat increased, yet it felt far from uncomfortable when Florence accompanied Sam and Achmed ashore in Asyut. In the vast market they bought fresh produce and meat and were back on board before sundown, when Sam freed the crew to go ashore in response to the muezzins' call to the faithful.

"Would you like to try to visit another viceroy?" Sam smiled and pointed to the east. "That's his palace."

"It looks like a fortress."

"A grim sight. An Arab saying has it that the grass never grows in the Turk's footprint. It looks that barren."

"What makes them so terrible?"

"Power. Actually, they may be no worse than other rulers and conquerors. Abuse of power is a common trait."

"I don't care to see any of them, ever."

"We'll see many more petty officials. We may encounter some with bones through their noses. Oppression isn't new to this part of the world."

"Let's just stay on the boat forever. It's perfect."

Sam was about to advise her to enjoy it while she might, but he didn't allow himself to dash her contentment. This idyllic leg of the trip must end, he knew but for him the thought was not unwelcome. He looked forward to challenges. Still he was aware that Florence's contentment wasn't idle. She met her challenges every day in her English lessons, and to those she had added her study of the Ptolemies, Mamelukes, and Romans. At every ruin she coaxed Sam to drop anchor and row her ashore where they trekked through the dunes. They climbed mounds of sand to stand near the capitals of buried columns, imagining what might lie forty feet below them. Sometimes they found names, carved by unthinking visitors, like the prince who had incised his name and a Coptic cross eight inches tall on one column's capital just beneath its exquisitely carved petals.

The evening they tied up at Luxor, Sam unpacked a volume of verse in which he found "Ozymandias" and read aloud Shelley's exhortation to the "mighty" to look on monuments and "despair." By moonlight, they looked at the ancient obelisk and at papyrus columns in Karnak's half-buried temples. To the west, the bare, sand-colored hills sequestered the Valley of the Kings. They would go there in the morning to visit tombs where generations of the "mighty" lay.

Early the next morning when it was still cool, Sam launched the pinnace, handed Florence aboard, and paddled across the river. Boys whose homes were scattered on this side of the hills waited to guard their boat for them, and Sam and Florence walked up a rocky path past the workers' village.

At its edge, a few guides waited, and they hired one who kept flicking a horse-hair fly whisk with a braided leather handle. He used it also as a pointer while he led them through the hills to the open tombs. They had been plundered long, long before, and many more, he assured them, awaited excavation. At one open tomb they made their way down twenty-seven crude wooden steps into a dark cavern. The guide positioned sheets of polished tin at the entrance, where they caught the sun's rays and reflected them onto the carved and painted walls. The walls and ceilings were cracked and peeling, and had been smudged by the smoke of fires.

"Why fires? Who would build fires here?" Sam asked. "Poor people who had no other place to live, Christians fleeing persecution. Now foreigners, Christians, come and pay to look."

"And a good many still come to pillage, to take away the riches they find here. Isn't that true?"

"Indeed it is. But many others, like yourself, come with respect."

* * *

Florence was a little surprised by Sam's exchange with the guide. His talk about opening Africa to trade had seemed a bit like plundering to her, but she supposed she was wrong and would ask him about it sometime, perhaps. It was sad to see the damage done by the ignorant or desperate, and it was outrageous how the careless or greedy had emptied places of their riches. Yet many bas reliefs and paintings survived seemingly untouched by raiders or even by time.

The place that most moved Florence was a pale relief on an otherwise unadorned wall in a small tomb. The relief was the larger-than-life figure of a handmaid, a mourner following her dead queen's palanquin. The limestone was smooth and the carving so delicate and precise that she could not refrain from tracing with a finger the trail of a tear falling from an almond eye, and her tears filled her own eyes.

On their last morning in Luxor, the temperature was 100° as they set out to Queen Hatshepsut's temple in the Valley of the Kings. Passing the giant colossi not far from the river, Florence asked why they didn't sing as legend promised.

"It's too hot to sing."

"Really, Sam, I want to know."

"It happens evenings when the stones cool and contract."

"I believe you now, but it's a dull explanation!"

"You'd hoped they'd sing for you? Well, obviously they don't recognize the golden-haired Queen of the Nile."

"Nor her consort."

"Ah, Florrie, if I could make you queen, I would build you a temple of lapis lazuli."

"And I would put the key of life in your hand."

"I think you have already done that, my dearest."

As they continued up-river, passing more ruined temples and a row of enormous statues carved into the bluffs, Florence laid aside her book and hoped her memory could retain all she was seeing. She could read about them later.

From the top deck, they saw the desert change from stretches of undulating sand and dunes to rubble, rocky bluffs, and canyon walls marked not with mere tourists' names but with glyphs made centuries before. Black basalt walls rose sharply, their shadows darkening the Nile's turbulent waters.

For an entire day, they passed through these narrow canyons, where rocks hid beneath the surface or jutted up in the channel. In the strong currents, the boats plunged so wildly that holding a course was impossible. Sam stayed at the dahabiah's helm while it wallowed amid looming rocks and swung through dark whirlpools. The river was deep and wide enough, however, to accommodate the shifts and turns of the dahabiah's long hull as well as the Clumsys' broad beams.

Beyond the dark bluffs, the land leveled again. Cultivated areas displayed the Nile's annual bounty—huge crops of beans, maize, clover, cotton, and sugar cane. Here and there amid the fields and palm groves, brown clay houses displayed plaques with red, blue, and gold designs.

A few houses were white-washed, and brilliantly colored symbols decorated their doors and window frames. Men at work in the fields paused to wave as the boats passed, and when the dahabiah dropped anchor, Nubian women called from the banks. Children waded in up to their armpits, holding their baskets high. They brimmed with dates and cane sugar cakes for Florence and the crew. She returned the baskets filled with colored glass beads.

Achmed went ashore and came back to report that a market lay little more than a day upstream.

The next morning at a bend in the river, the water spread wide, and a jetty allowed them to tie up and go ashore for the first time in a week. Achmed talked to people who knew his brothers and cousins, and he wept for joy. They brought back fresh feed for the animals and meat for themselves and the crew, and they acquired two more Nanny goats to provide milk.

After another day, as the land's ruggedness again increased, they saw no more signs of habitation. Here the Nile's life bringing water, even at full flood, didn't reach into the sere, barren stretches beyond the high banks.

Sandstone cliffs loomed up and narrowed their passage, and the water's roar echoed from the rocky cliffs.

"This is it," Sam shouted to Florence as she came to his side at the helm, "the first cataract."

She had brought him a flask of drinking water but knew she must keep out of his way. He and his two helmsmen fought to keep their boats away from boulders while several of the strongest men dropped over the sides and, scrambling for firm footing on the boulders, grappled with hawsers to help the boats hold their course. Florence retreated to the upper deck and braced herself against the rail where she could watch the crew's strength and daring. She could feel the river batter the boat and rocks jar it and was amazed how durable were the wooden hulls.

As she clung to the rail with the wind tugging at her clothes and spray striking her face, she felt the excitement she had imagined when Sam first talked of Africa. The lure of new and exotic places became tangible. She understood Sam's hunger for adventure and, in this brief moment of wild joy, understood his anticipation of challenges. She felt an urge to rush down to tell him that she felt it, too. But she hadn't the words for it, and she remained where she could look down and see him, lashed by wind and water, guiding them through danger.

Above the first cataract the river again lay smooth and broad but with a current so swift they made little headway. They were twenty-six days out of Cairo and moving steadily in a light wind when Florence saw her first camel train, a long line of the beasts heading north laden with enormous tusks and bundles of hides. Before many miles they reached the village of Korosko, a cluster of walled houses and an encampment of conical tents. Beyond the farthest tents, horses and pack animals milled around within a fenced area and tethered camels ruminated nearby.

The dahabiah approached one of four wooden moorings where a town square opened on the waterfront. As their hull bumped the pilings, the crew secured the ropes and lashed the noggurs rail to-rail with the dahabiah. In the village square, men sat at little tables in sparse shade from umbrella trees. Some drew on their water pipes and gestured as they talked, and others quietly played games or sipped coffee or tea. Florence noticed there were no women in the market although small children played in the dirt or ran along the water's edge, leaping over ropes.

Now that the boat was moored and the air still, the mid-day sun heated every surface and fell heavily on their heads and shoulders, discouraging even mild exertion. Florence remained on the upper deck, fanning herself and watching Sam, who seemed impervious to the shimmering heat. He leapt across from the boat to the rickety landing, followed by Mustafa, who would help him negotiate with merchants and camel drivers.

"We're going to miss this old tub,'' Sam sighed when he returned and joined Florence on the upper deck. "There are three more cataracts beyond here, far worse than what we've come through."

"You mean that is where the river becomes impassable?"

"For us, completely. It loops west for about five hundred miles, but we can go overland and reach the river above the rapids where it is again navigable. It will take us about a week or ten days, going straight south on a caravan route across the Nubian desert."

Despite the heat, Florence shivered. Like the natives, she had begun to believe in the Nile's life-giving powers. She had not realized they'd be leaving it this soon, and she knew she'd miss the long days of gazing at spectacular landscapes, the cool nights above moon-lit water, and even the wild cataracts. But she chose to avoid mentioning her feelings to Sam and to speak only of mundane matters.

"What about our supplies and boats?"

"Mustafa and the sailing crew will take the boats back to Cairo, and we'll carry all we need. And his cabin boys will be with us. Don't worry, my dear, Achmed Camels and their drivers will take us to Abu Hamed. And then we'll see about getting another boat."

For Sam, she could see that leaving the boat was a mere step along the way, and she knew she must get used to the change even though her self-confidence was a bit shaky. On their last night on board, she was lost in thought as they waited for the cooling wind when Sam spoke to her with an unexpected prescience.

"Are you afraid, Florence?"

"A little," and for her own sake as well as his, she tried to name her fears, "of the heat. And the camels."

"The heat is formidable, you are quite right. But if the camels seem nasty, it is primarily their breath and the noises they make. And you needn't be friends with them."

"Not that I think they don't mean well," Florence laughed, glad she had mentioned them, "I just don't know how to ride a camel. They're not like horses."

"The drivers will control them, you just hang on."

"Dear Sam, don't worry. I'll get used to them and probably feel sad when we part."

"I do worry, Florence. I fear I ask too much of you."

"'Entreat me not to leave you or forbear following after you."

"So you've looked into the Bible." Sam took both of her hands. "I admire both your accuracy and your sentiment."

His touch, as always, comforted her, easing her mind and banishing some fear. She longed to again feel the elation rather than the threat, and she told herself not to make too much of her nervousness. What could be more natural than to feel uneasy at setting out across a burning desert?

### Chapter 13

The sun filtered through the netting around her cot, and Florence awoke to sound of men talking and animals snorting. Sam was gone, the tent flap was rolled up, and she glimpsed camels on their knees while men settled loads on their backs. She hurried to wash up and dress in a blue cotton skirt and shirtwaist and went out so the crew could strike the tent. Achmed had kept a pot of tea hot in the ashes and filled a cup for her, and he put a piece of crisp, warm _atayif_ on a plate. She hadn't been hungry before she tasted the honey and cinnamon. Balancing the plate, she sank to the ground and quickly devoured her breakfast. Then she went to find Sam.

"Good morning, Florence." Sam kissed her lightly and peered at her face. "Are you ready to meet your camel?"

"I don't know if he's ready, but I think I am."

Slowly approaching her mount, Florence studied his placid face and hairy ears. He was chewing, his jaw working from side to side, and his long upper lip curled over the lower one.

His eyes were half closed, and she studied the long lashes, straight and thick as a paint brush to keep sand out of his eyes. Seeing that he was busy digesting, she flung her soft woolen burnoose around her shoulders and stepped closer to his hump to examine the saddle. Sam came to help her to climb onto the big saddle that offered a high front and high and wide back that gave her support and a feeling of security. She reached forward and patted the camel's neck while his jaw continued working and his stomachs went on rumbling.

"He's absorbed in his own thoughts, Sam, not interested in me. Is that a good sign or a bad?"

"He probably hasn't met many women. Just assume he knows his job. Are you sitting comfortably?"

"So far I've no complaints."

Sam and Achmed made sure everyone carried a full water canteen, then mounted their own camels while the drivers checked all the packs and saddle straps. At a signal from the leader, the drivers goaded the camels, and as her beast lurched to his feet, Florence gripped the saddle horn. As the train set out across the sand, she grew accustomed to the peculiar loping gait, though in changing gaits, the camel sometimes lurched alarmingly. After the first few jolts, however, she adjusted to the roll and sway and knew why they were called the ships of the desert.

As the sun rose toward the zenith, color bleached from the sky, and the sand returned the heat, shimmering in waves. The wind picked up sand and pelted her, stinging her hands and penetrating even the fine weave of the burnoose which she drew across the lower half of her face. She wore gogglers with cuplike frames that narrowed her vision but kept the sand out of her eyes, and the smoked lenses protected them from glare.

By noon the rocky outcroppings cast barely a shadow and created no hope of respite. The drivers urged the beasts on and on until they came upon a few stunted palms rising among rocks, a poor oasis, but it offered slight shelter from the wind and a spot of shade. They halted the caravan and the camels knelt. Florence saw she was not the only one who found it difficult to unbend and stand up, and she wallowed across the sand and lay down in the shadow of a rock.

While the crews set up canopies and Achmed distributed food, Sam brought out his thermometer and set it in shade near the leather bags of drinking water. He told Florence it registered 124° Fahrenheit. While camels chewed their cuds, the travelers ate a light meal and drowsed for an hour, then still heavy with sleep, climbed back into their saddles to resume the trek until the sun sank beyond the dunes. The men were quick to erect some windbreaks and a tent for Florence and Sam while Achmed set about his cooking.

The sky turned gold and red, then green and lavender as the night winds sucked heat from the sand. Sam and Florence lounged on a Persian carpet in front of their tent, and she felt grateful as she shivered and pulled a shawl around her shoulders. They sipped hot tea and watched the first stars appear. Achmed served plates of mutton and bean mash, all savory with spices, and he smiled proudly in response to their praises.

"He is all anyone could hope for even in a Nubian servant. We're very fortunate," Sam said, reaching under a cushion for a bottle still warm from the day's heat.

"Awfully thoughtful, too, for one so young. And he learns English faster than I learn Arabic."

They sipped warm cognac as the moon rose, then went into the tent and dropped the canvas flaps. They undressed and lay on the silky carpet to make love slowly, quietly, while only a few yards away the men finished their work, unrolled their beds, and lay like the animals, under the starry sky.

"Being out here on the desert in the night, I feel I'm in a fairy tale, as if we're the only people in an enchanted world."

"I am delighted you feel that, too, Florence. We are very much alone, and so, 'Let us possess one world; each one hath one, and is one.'"

"Another poem."

"Mmm-hm, Donne, the passionate priest. He knew love-making was holy."

On the second morning, and the third and fourth, Florence became adept at rising in the dark, eating quickly, and settling into the ride. That was the best time, before the sun's blinding brilliance burned her eyes and parched her skin, before stinging winds cracked her lips and dusted her eyeballs. Sam regularly reminded her to take frequent sips of water.

On the evening of the seventh day, Florence slipped heavily from the back of her kneeling camel and stumbled toward shade, pulling off her hood and trying to remove the cloak. With a faint cry, she suddenly pitched forward into the sand.

* * *

In seconds Sam was at Florence's side. He lifted her in his arms and, shouting to Achmed, carried her to a level place. While the men erected their tent, Sam knelt and held her head up as he bathed her face with water Achmed brought. He untied the cord to remove her cloak and felt heat radiate from her body. Her eyes were open but seemed not to see as Sam dribbled the last drops from the canteen on her collar. She groaned when he shouted for someone, anyone, to bring more water.

"Sam, Sam, what's wrong?"

"You'll be all right. It's the heat. You're all right."

He took a water-soaked towel from Achmed and put it around her neck, then held a cup of water to her lips. When her cot had been set up, Sam lifted her onto it and loosened her clothing.

He pulled off her boots and rubbed the hard, knotted muscles of her calves until her spasms ceased. Her breath continued in short, ragged and shallow gasps; white lines drawn from her nostrils to the corners of her lips made her flushed face into an alarming mask.

The men had raised the tent, and they carried Florence on the cot into it. Achmed placed a basin of water and a stack of linen towels beside her, and Sam bathed her face, arms, and hands and then sent Achmed to get the medicine chest. He stripped off her clothes and pulled the sheet across her body so she might cool gradually without chilling. Achmed returned with the case and stepped back to stand outside the tent. Sam continued to apply alcohol, rubbing her feet and legs and patting her torso and arms. Gradually her breathing eased and muscles no longer contorted, yet her face remained impassive. When at last she opened her eyes, they were clear and focused, and Sam gave her a sip of water. She ran her tongue across her lower lip.

"My head is pounding- I'm dizzy."

"It will pass. We're getting your temperature down. You have heat prostration."

He could feel her pulse still pounding at a great rate and sent for boys to fan the evening air into the tent. At last he stood up, peeled off his clothes down to his drawers, raised all the tent flaps, and rolled out a carpet between their cots. When he bent over her again, he saw beads of sweat form on her upper lip and forehead, a sign that her body was cooling itself now, and he sent the boys to their meal.

Florence mumbled that she couldn't see well, and he murmured assurances until she drifted off to sleep. He stayed at her side and stroked her twitching limbs, losing all sense of time until she woke and whispered that he should go to bed. He stirred some sodium bicarbonate in a glass of water and then lifted her head from the pillow so she could sip it. She sighed and fell asleep.

Only then did he notice that on the table in front of the tent, Achmed had left his dinner plate with an iron pot inverted over it, and beside it a lantern glowed. Sam washed up and drank a whiskey, then settled himself at the table and read his medical book while he ate. Later he wrote in his journal and lay down on his cot, listening as her breathing eased.

Finally, he allowed himself to sleep.

* * *

Florence awoke in the dark, her pillow pressing hard on the back of her head, her legs heavy, and her belly hollow. But she wasn't dizzy. She turned her head toward a pale yellow light and saw Sam bending over a book. She didn't say a word, knowing he would get up and come to her.

There was no need. He had done enough. She closed her eyes.

When next she awoke, the light was gone, and she heard him breathing evenly on his cot and felt comforted.

She awoke to heat and light, and she knew from the intensity of the glare that the sun was high. Panic sent a buzz along her nerves, tightening her stomach and making her head hurt. Hearing Sam's voice outside, she drew a deep breath.

"Sam, what are you doing? Sam?" She tried to keep the desperation from her voice. "Sam?"

His silhouette appeared in a triangle of light as he held back the tent flap.

"Why didn't you wake me? We must ride. We can't stay here."

"I'm well enough."

"Be calm, dearest. I wanted you to sleep every minute you could. You've been very ill. Achmed will bring your breakfast. If you can sit up and eat, maybe we'll set out later, after the worst of the heat. We will wait, however, as long we need to. We're less than a day away from Abu Hamed."

"You're so very good to me- I hate being so much trouble."

"I don't like that sort of talk, Florence. We're human and need each other's help from time to time."

"I know, I know. I'll try not to say it."

By late afternoon when she had eaten a little food and had walked a short distance, she insisted she was well enough for the journey. Her head no longer ached, and she did not admit that her entire body felt bruised and broken. But Sam was firm in his decision to wait until morning.

The next day, though still weak, she felt able to do a few hours' ride. Sam rode close by her side, watching and reminding her to take a swallow of water often. As time passed, she kept in mind that the river was near; soon the air would feel fresh, the wind gentle. And the day's end might mean a cool bath in the tin tub, if not in the river itself.

Before they could see it they could feel the Nile in the air, and at last the caravan reached Abu Hamed. They unloaded the camels and set up camp, and Achmed and his helpers filled her tub with water before taking their own plunge in the river.

After dinner, Sam moved the table and brought out pillows, and they lounged like Bedouins on their carpet; Sam poured two glasses of cognac and toasted her with a smile.

"You are lovely like this, your hair falling free!"

"And hands and face as dark as a Nubian's."

"Allow me to praise you, Florrie."

"Please do. I need it. That sunstroke cost me a good bit of self-regard."

"I know the feeling. Illness knocks us off balance and puts the lie to our illusions of immortality. You'll not find much to match that stretch you came through."

"That's comforting. I can cope with inconvenience and some pain, but I hate being helpless."

"Tonight, Florrie, let's sleep under the stars."

"Out here? The camels will watch us."

"Yes, out here. Camels have already seen everything. And just look up! Have you ever seen such a sky?"

She had not. Stars filled the black sky from horizon to horizon, and she felt almost ecstatic, so alive, and not merely well but deliciously healthy again.

For eight days they rode south from Abu Hamed along the Nile. Potable water was not hard to find, and inhabitants cultivated date palms, lemon and fig trees, and a readiness to barter with the travelers. The groves and irrigated croplands mitigated the equatorial heat. At night when they heard the rumble of the sixth cataract, Florence remembered the first of the rapids and dreamed of wind and water on her face and the river pounding the boat under her feet.

* * *

Just north of the mouth of the Atbara River, the trade route from Cairo to Khartoum joined one from the Red Sea, a junction that had become a caravansary and the thriving market town of Berber. Slender dahabiahs anchored in the Nile, and traders and travelers from the north and east crowded the market.

"All these people! Are they Europeans?"

"Many are. It's fashionable for the wealthy and adventurous to visit Egypt. Writers come, too – Flaubert and Bayard Taylor, an American poet, and photographers du Camp and Frith and others whose works have given us glimpses of the splendor of its ancient monuments. Cameras and methods for developing the photographs are rapidly improving."

"But do they come the way we did?"

"Probably not. Notice how small those boats are. They can handle the rapids or be transported around them. Some travelers come by way of the Red Sea, too."

"But you said Africa is unknown."

"Most of it is, and we shall see such parts, my dear. We've much ahead of us yet."

They camped a few miles south of the town in a place known to their drivers for its kraals for animals and spaces for camps near the river bank. The Atbara River was merely a rivulet in a sheet of glaring sand, but they found a grove of drought-hardy trees and pitched their tent. Florence was happy to be in one place for a while, to read her books and rest.

Meanwhile, Sam, who needed no rest, took Achmed with him to the Berber market every day. They returned with tins of food from England and apples from somewhere in the north and plums from Eritrea.

"It's a busy place, the crossroads, and I am learning a lot from everyone I've talked with."

"About where we are headed?"

"For wherever we might choose to go. Traders know Khartoum well and say it's an interesting place. A trader just in from the Red Sea spoke of the beauty and the temperate climate in Abyssinia and Eritrea."

Sam wasn't ready to talk to her of a plan he'd begun to formulate, and having seen enough of the market for a while, he stayed in camp and attended to paper work. He set up a table under a tree on the bank of the parched river bed and wrote notes for entries in his journal. He tried using some tinted paper to lessen the glare but found it useless. The real problem was that the heat made the sheets so dry they cracked when he folded them. Florence suggested he keep a pot of water boiling nearby, and she brought him a steaming pot of tea. When he held a sheet of paper above it, the page went limp and the ink ran.

"So much for that dandy innovation!"

"It seemed to be a good idea. Perhaps a different mixture of colors would make ink that wouldn't run."

"But I've no other material for making ink. I shall return to scribbling in my cumbersome books of good rag paper."

By mid-day as they strolled along the banks, they saw turtles burrowing into sand and an occasional crocodile lying like a log at the stream's edge. Sam repeated a story he found hard to believe: the traders said that when the spring flood comes down the Atbara, it transforms the desert in a single night.

In June, on the first day of summer, Florence and Sam were undressing for bed when they heard the first rumbles, which soon grew to a deafening roar as rocks tumbled and rolled through the ravine east of their camp. They ran out in time to see a wall of water and debris rushing down the riverbed, a cacophony that set off shrieks and whistles from birds and monkeys. Bushbabies howled and squealed as they scurried for high ground, and a hyrax ran into their tent, gazed at the lamp, and abruptly ran out.

When it became evident that their camp lay well above the flood's path, they watched in awe as the river spread to its banks, the noise diminished, and a fresh wind swept down its course.

In the morning they beheld a world transformed. Each barren tree and dry bush was springing to life along the Atbara's banks. As the parched soil drank the water, tamarind and flame trees sprouted tiny green shoots, and the fresh, moist air smelled of springtime. They walked beside the river to the harbor, where boats rode on high water, and to the market square, where a crowd had gathered.

A festive mood was evident in the camaraderie among traders who had seen this freshening year after year and travelers who had doubted the stories they'd heard. In shops and cafes many carried or wore a flower bud or a green twig plucked from shrubs.

Khartoum was only eight days away on the caravan route along the Nile, but Sam now seriously considered a change in their itinerary, a change addressing two major concerns. One concern was Florence's stamina: Since her sun stroke, he believed she needed more time to become acclimated, but he couldn't say this to her, lest she blame herself for delaying their journey. The other was a flaw of his own: his insufficient command of Arabic. All along he'd been troubled by difficulties that arose from his dependence on dragoman Mustafa or on Achmed. That must not continue. Almost from the first day on the dahabiah, he had castigated himself for not having enough Arabic to be fully in command, and he vowed to be independent of interpreters. He and Florence, too, must become fluent in Arabic, familiar with its many dialects, and must learn something of the Bantu languages.

Everything he'd learned suggested that the temperate climate of the Abyssinian highlands would serve as an ideal respite. In addition to the language, he could study the botanical nature of the region, perhaps update Burkhardt's catalog, and perhaps publish.

After he'd worked out the details in his mind, they strolled along the river, and he chose the time to present the plan to Florence.

"Abyssinia's climate is mild and the terrain beautiful, land so fertile we could grow a garden in no time."

''Sounds inviting," she responded, but she was watching birds in the trees along the river bank.

"I used to read John Burkhardt in school," Sam said. "He was a great botanist who wrote books about Africa fifty years ago. Now few other than traders travel to the highlands because of the emperor and some unruly tribes. It can't be too bad."

"Ummhmm," she murmured. "Yet, if some traders go..."

"There's some trouble between Copts and Muslims."

"What was it you told me about Copts?"

"They're Christians, fourth century. That priest in the Roman ruin was a Copt."

"And what are you saying now?" She had begun to listen.

"You want to go there? Why now, Sam?"

"It's an old civilization, an interesting landscape." Sam saw he now had Florence's full attention, for she had stopped in the path and was facing him. "And we'd have time to learn, maybe even to master, Arabic languages."

"What about our plan to go as far as we can up the Nile? What's wrong, Sam? Are you doing this because of my sun stroke? You think I'm not well enough?"

"Florrie, I have many reasons for not plunging ahead. I'm in dead earnest about the Arabic. As to the rest, yes, I think we could use time to get used to the climate."

"I know I am not as vigorous as usual, but I don't think – I mean this is not necessary!"

"And I don't believe you should object to my concern. That aside, you must believe I'm sincere about our preparations. You know I have detested depending on Mustafa. I also think we can have a splendid time."

* * *

During that walk while Sam talked about Abyssinia, Florence had been caught up in memories of Bucharest, of spring bursting upon the gray city, of tiny green buds on trees and shooting up from flower beds. Sam had taken her in his arms, kissed her, awakened her senses. She had wanted to cry and to laugh and hadn't understood why.

She missed Adrianna and the familiar European places and voices. Those days were easier, despite her ignorance, than their life now.

Adventure could be tiring. A rest might be good for them both, and learning more Arabic would surely be good. She was also certain that their clothing was all wrong for the climate. They had brought lengths of Egyptian cotton, and she meant to turn them into less confining, cooler garments.

Sam was right. Abyssinia was a good idea.

### Chapter 14

Abyssinia

The trader who was familiar with the farthest and least known parts of Africa provided much of the information Sam needed, and all of it supported his decision to take time out. Koorshid Aga assured him that in the most remote parts of Africa, tribes traded with Arabs and knew their languages. He spoke of Abyssinia's natural beauty and civilized people. Farmers and herders, he said, lived peacefully despite the emperor.

"I know a European man who has lived for years in Sofi and will be useful to you. If you want to go, I can provide camels and drivers. You are welcome to use my warehouses in Khartoum for any equipment you want held until you return."

"Let's say we have a tentative agreement. Your services meet every need. _Ensha Allah_ , we shall go ahead after I have talked with my companion."

"I am honored to serve you; _ma el salama!_ "

"He's a true entrepreneur," Sam told Florence, "ready to do well for himself by making customers happy."

"Doesn't 'aga' mean he's a Turk?"

"Arabs use 'Aga' as an honorific. Koorshid is actually a Circassian from an enclave in the Caucasus Mountains northeast of the Black Sea. Neither Russians nor Turks have ever subdued that wild and independent region."

"You believe he's honest? You trust him?"

"I do. I asked several reliable men before introducing myself to him, and talking with him convinced me he is both straight-forward and competent. He runs boats up the Nile to Gondokoro, caravans from here to the Red Sea, and sends his traders out from those bases. He may prove valuable to know in future times, too."

"I don't know why I ask these questions. I have never doubted your judgment."

"It's right to ask, so you know and take part in our plans. You're my partner."

They decided what should be sent to Khartoum and turned over twenty-eight cartons of equipment to Koorshid to store. Sam paid off his crew, retaining only Achmed, and he hired the drivers with their camels.

Before sunrise on July tenth, their eighteen camel caravan was ready to move out on a trade route that stretched east across pebbly sands, not far, at the start, far from the Atbara's banks where gray-green mimosas could provide shade for some respite. They set out each day at first light, stopped in early afternoon for rest and a light meal, and then rode through the afternoon. When the sun went down, the drivers said their prayers and then gathered around great circular trays to eat. Achmed cooked and served Florence and Sam on the carpet laid before their tent and then ate his own supper.

Some nights as Sam and Florence lay on their cots under a tent of netting, he told her about his early life. His family might have sent him to the best public schools, but his father preferred that his sons be schooled by a series of tutors. His upbringing was not typical, he said, yet it was unremarkable.

"But, Sam, I find it quite remarkable! A time for discovery and pursuit of whatever you and tutors chose to study!"

"It wasn't quite like that. My father's views required the liberal arts, all seven! However, he also approved our freedom to focus on our favorites, botany and geography. I had time to walk the woods, collecting plant specimens and making drawings and, when I was back in our library, pressing them under heavy volumes. For companions I had my brothers and cousins, and we played lively games, but that didn't set me up for the rivalries and loyalties that bind school chums. Which usually suits me well."

"It's left me odd man out. And you are close to your family."

"True, my brothers and I are always on excellent terms. After our father's death, responsibility for the estate fell to me. I do what's expected of an eldest son, and not reluctantly."

After eleven days, the trail veered away from the river and rose gradually toward a high plateau, where humpbacked cattle grazed. Energized by the mild climate, Sam and Florence often rode off ahead of the caravan to enjoy a solitary picnic lunch and a rest. About two days away from Kassala they met nomads who were moving north ahead of the rainy season and away from Turkish groups at war with Arabs. That danger, added to strong signs of approaching rain, suggested to Sam that they avoid Kassala.

The new route led through a valley between high bluffs and into what Sam believed to be the Marabe River gorge, and they followed the river into the highlands.

While considering where they might camp, they saw four black men striding toward them. Their white cotton togas belted by brightly colored sashes looked so clean and fresh that Sam was sure they had not walked far. When they stopped in front of him, he saw good will in their handsome features and kind eyes, and he held out both hands to them. One man greeted him in an Arabic dialect that was familiar to Sam, and his reply made them smile and brought questions and offers of assistance.

Sam told the men that in their travels he had been told of this land and wanted to see its scenic beauty, experience the healthful climate and become acquainted with its people. He hoped to stay, to live, in the region long enough to study the land and learn its people's way of life.

"We are Sofi people and we will take you to our village. I will send one man with the news of your arrival. Chief Hayla will welcome you."

The three men led the caravan through the low hills, passing pastures of grazing cattle and fields of growing crops. Within sight of the settlement, they came to a field where they could leave their caravan and drivers. The spokesman then escorted Sam and Florence on a pathway through clusters of stone and wattle houses to an open space and at its center a large house of stone and timber. In the shelter of its portico, a silver-haired man of regal bearing awaited them.

The chief greeted them, smiled warmly when Sam replied in him language, and then he turned and led them into the house. They stepped from the bright daylight into a large room so dark that they could barely see the rows of benches on either side of the central aisle. As they followed the chief down the aisle, their eyes adjusted and they saw that its only windows were high and shaded by the portico and wide eaves. At the far end of the room, two boys were lighting a row of torches attached to wall. Stepping into their light, Chief Hayla turned around and pointed toward a broad leather bench where Sam and Florence were to sit.

Then he mounted a low dais to sit facing them from a throne-like chair that was draped with animal hides.

As Sam and Florence sat down, they heard footsteps and breathing behind them and realized people were silently taking their places on the benches.

Then the thump of boots brought to their side a fair-haired man in a leather shirt and trousers. He bowed to the chief, then turned his smiling, clean-shaven face to Florence, then to Sam. He said his name was Florian Mouche, but was usually called Mouche. He had come from Austria to build a mission in Gallabat, and after completing his work, had drifted north to hunt in the highlands. He now earned his living hunting and sometimes serving the chief as an interpreter.

He asked Sam to tell him in either German or English why they had come to Abyssinia, and he then translated the details to assure the chief the visitors had no ties to either the Turks or the Soudanese. The chief grinned his approval and clapped his hands three times, summoning two young men who carried a clay pot from which he filled four cups with beer. As the chief stood and he and Mouche and their guests raised the bitter drink to their lips, the unseen people on the benches sang a brisk melody accompanied by drums and pipes.

When the song ended, Sam inquired where he might set up the camp and whether they might stay through the rainy season, and the chief said they were welcome to stay as long as they liked. He also insisted that the Sofi village would make a home on the edge of the village, a new house. And without waiting for any response, he turned to his people and ordered that a work party assemble at a site near the house Mouche had built for himself.

By the time Sam and Florence reached the place, men were there with bundles of grass, poles, and reeds as well as vessels of caulking material. By the end of the day, they had erected a round house they called a _tukul_. It was sturdily constructed and its earth floor was pounded until hard enough to be swept. At the center of the house was a fireplace with a metal hood and chimney. From another site they carried a straw dwelling for Achmed and between the two dwellings erected a thatched roof over a kitchen area. The kitchen hearth was ready with a fire glowing under a spit, and before dark women came carrying pots of food and placing them on the fire's edge.

Sam completed arrangements with the drivers to take half the camels with them to Kassala and saw that the remaining men were settled in their camp.

As they brought all the equipment and baggage to the tukul, Florence organized it and, with Achmed's help, set up their new home.

"Look at all they've done for us, Sam. How will we ever thank them?"

"They've exceeded all standards of hospitality. It may take us some time to show our gratitude. But we will."

* * *

The rains came on, persisting through most of July and August and often accompanied by thunder storms. Temperatures dropped below 60°, but their house was quick to dry, warmed by the fire at its center. By firelight Florence and Sam studied Arabic together and practiced it on Achmed.

When men came to see Sam, their wives also came with jars of beer for them, and then the women sat in the house, nodding and smiling while Florence served tea and tinned biscuits. When it wasn't raining, Achmed helped Florence start a garden, planting seeds they had brought with them as well as some the Sofis gave them. The women showed them how to prepare native plants and pointed out those that were not edible. She felt at ease with the men, too, even though they were nervous about her. It was the custom for a man to share a wife with any man he regarded as a friend; however, they knew Sam had gracefully declined the chief's offer and understood Sam did not offer his wife, even to the chief.

Sam leased two horses, and on clear days, Florence rode with him across the plateau and along the river. Often, Sam hunted with Mouche, who made a living selling items he made from tusks, ears, trunks, and feet. After a successful hunt for rhinos, elephants, and waterbucks, Mouche shared the hides with him.

When elephants came through the area, Sam carried the rifle he had designed for the African elephant, but he soon discovered that, despite its power, it would not immediately drop the great beast unless the shot struck just behind its armor-like skull bones, and a kill usually took several shots.

Florence didn't like thinking of the animals they killed, but she, herself, was willing to shoot small game for Achmed to cook. One day when she and Sam were out on such a shoot, their beaters suddenly dove into the bushes and disappeared from sight. Sam raised his glasses to focus on a cloud of dust, then grabbed the reins from her and turned both horses and led them into a dense copse. He returned her reins but gripped her shoulders as they stared at a rise only five hundred feet away where a dozen Arab horsemen drove, with shouts and cracking whips, a column of captive blacks.

Naked men marched single file, roped together at the neck, their wrists and ankles chained. Behind them the women walked, their bodies kept upright by a stick, bound to them from pelvis to chin and forcing their faces forward, their chins high. Their wrists were tied to the stick, and many also had a child or two tied by a rope that circled their small bodies under their arms. The women could neither see nor touch their children but surely could feel when a child fell and was being dragged. Dust caked the sweating bodies; urine, feces, and blood stained their legs.

There were dozens of men and women walking single file, and long after their moans and wails and cracking of whips faded, a stench hung in the air. Sam released his hold on Florence, but neither spoke.

They prodded their horses, and turned back toward the village. The bearers crept out of hiding, eyes wary and chests heaving, and straggled along behind the horses. The hunt was over, the trip home silent.

Florence invited women in for tea so often that they came as if on a schedule. Soon they brought along their bead work or basketry. Some worked hand looms to weave strips that they sewed together for rugs or blankets, and when Florence showed interest in their crafts, they eagerly taught them to her. In return, she showed them the clothes she was sewing for Sam and herself from Egyptian cotton.

Before leaving Cairo Florence had given up wearing the corsets she'd acquired in Bucharest, but continued to suffer the long sleeves, cuffs, high collars, and multi-layered skirts. It wasn't long before she was certain that few of her clothes were suitable for the climate, and particularly for the active life she wanted.

She also came to think that Sam, too, ought to wear something more sensible than collared shirts and close-fitting trousers. When they had stopped to visit the weavers in Asyut, south of Cairo, she had chosen lengths of fabric with the thought that she might sew simple garments that would be comfortable in the heat. Now she knew what they needed, and she had the time to do it.

The first item she designed was a pair of trousers for herself. No more side saddles for her! The legs were wide and could hang loose or be tucked into her boots.

She created a similar design for Sam to tuck into boots, and she also made short ones that didn't reach his boot tops. Shirts for each of them would have ample sleeves to protect their pale skin while allowing air to circulate and collars that could be worn either open or buttoned up.

She began by cutting up old clothes to make patterns, then trying them on and making changes if necessary before the final stitching.

She cut one garment at a time from sturdy unbleached Asyut cotton, and then assembled the parts and stitched them together. The women asked to use her needles, and soon they were all sewing intently on the new clothes, and then they helped her dye them various shades of tan and light brown. Sam was amazed by the speed with which she produced so many garments, and he praised her designs and her efficiency.

''I didn't know I'd have so much help," she told him.

"Perhaps we'll come back here some day and find whole tribes have cast aside their togas for 'Florentine trousers'!"

She appreciated the women's companionship as well as their help and found their humor a constant delight. It surprised her when the subject of their mirth was men. They giggled about their husbands, their masters and owners, relegating them to the status of little boys, willful and often blundering.

The women were also loving mothers to every child, no matter whose. Florence knew she had once been secure in her mother's arms and that it was her turn to provide security, to pass it on. She thought about her lost child, for whom she had never properly grieved, and now felt a pang of sorrow. She envied the Sofi women and the pride in their pregnant bodies as they showed off their shining bellies.

"The pregnant ones let us all touch their swollen bellies. And they touch my hair and my face. They look under my skirt as well as into my baskets and boxes."

"I know. They're like children," he answered. "We cannot hold it against them, but they do need to be trained."

"Why trained? I admire how they feel free to act on impulse and satisfy their curiosity. Their customs are harmless, just different."

"Different, yes, and the men are free to lend their wives or trade them. Is that harmless?"

"To them I guess it is. It's their custom. I was talking about behavior- oh, never mind."

Marriage customs, she thought, must develop from practical reasons. She liked the way these people loved all the children, but that was different from sharing wives. All people lived with impulses as well as customs and rules. She thought of how easily Sam was aroused by her touch or even the sight of her body, and how she learned about her own sensuality. Sam said blacks were undiscriminating and Turks born to cruelty, and he didn't approve of what he called "all polygamous heathens." Yet, having seen his eyes when the Sofi women flaunted their bodies, she couldn't help but wonder how he would behave if he were here without her.

Once when Sam happened to be in the house when the widow who did their washing brought it in, he paid her with a Maria Therese dollar. She examined the big coin and assumed it to be worth more than her wage and decided he must be buying her. She fell to the ground, hugging him around the knees and babbling. Sam cried out to Florence that he couldn't move, that she must do something.

"It's not my place to interfere."

"Then you must fetch the chief!"

"Surely that would demean the poor woman."

The woman looked from one to the other during this exchange and, perhaps sensing she was causing an argument, let go of Sam and scurried to Florence's side. With tears in her eyes, she pressed the coin into Florence's hand, and Florence finally kept the coin and paid her in the usual small coins. The laundress thanked her, glared at Sam, and flounced out of sight. Then Florence gave in to laughter.

"Florence! You enjoyed that!"

"You were lucky this time."

"I may have to trade you after all."

* * *

By February the temperatures were rising and Sam turned from hunting to working with the hides he'd cured. He made use of his cobbling skills to make boots, high and low ones for them both. Then he made slippers for Florence and sandals for them both and for Achmed. He fashioned capes that would cover a rider and saddle, and drape over a horse's back.

The weather warmed steadily now, and in another month they would harvest squash, melons, and root vegetables to carry with them when they left.

In March they assembled supplies to carry away with them, Sam packing and Florence recording the contents of every parcel in ledgers. They had food that would keep well and stacks of hides to trade or give away, and all their equipment was in good repair. Sam paid the Sofi men well for the care of the camels he'd kept. When he tried to buy three horses, they insisted on giving him the two he and Florence had ridden, and Sam bought the third. Florence's friends crowed with delight over her gifts of needles, scissors, combs and mirrors.

Achmed was very pleased to be allowed to ride a small roan called Mouse; Sam rode big black Tetel and Florence the bay mare Filfil. Sofi elders and Florian rode along as escorts, and on foot came young men, women, and scores of children. A mile from the village, the caravan halted while women sang a plaintive farewell and tears spilled down Florence's cheeks.

Mist covered the mountains as they headed south toward the upper reaches of the Atbara. With Mouche's help Sam had mapped out a route across the high plateau to Gallabat, crossing several tributaries of the Atbara, which should be low enough to ford, and then to the upper Blue Nile. He estimated a six or eight weeks' ride would allow time to record terrain and identify the flora and fauna. By the end of May they should reach the Blue Nile at the start of its flood.

"The main thing is, Florrie, we did all we came to do and more. We're seasoned travelers, equipped to be nomads."

"I didn't know what to expect, but I learned so much more than Arabic."

"You are now ready for any situation, my dear. Isn't it immensely satisfying to take on a challenge, to feel resourceful? You do it all very well."

Florence pressed her horse into a gallop and was laughing into the wind when Sam caught up with her.

### Chapter 15

Mountains, higher mountains than Sam had expected to see lay on their horizon, but he believed the route he'd chosen would present little difficulty. The sun shone and the days filled with pleasure as Sam saw plants he'd seen only in drawings and a few that were entirely strange. They thrilled to the sight of herds of wild animals and birds with stunning crests and bright feathers, and the occasional lone panther resting on a limb.

They encountered a strange species of monkeys, saw rodents with long plume-like tails, and others with ears like a rabbit's. All was set against a panorama of distant peaks, deep gorges, and sometimes sheer basalt walls rising from the plain.

They were east of Kassala and nearing the realm of a local chief, a brigand who claimed to be the son of Mek Nimr, the "Lion King" the Turks had run out of Soudan. The vengeful son Mek was purging the villages of Muslims, but here there were no signs of raids. Nevertheless, when they overtook a group of Christian missionaries, it added to their feeling of security to travel near their caravan the rest of the way to Gallabat.

Situated on the banks of the Atbara, the town scattered across the valley. Sam chose a camp site east of the river at the base of a steep bluff. They planned to stay only long enough to search the local market for supplies brought in by way of the Red Sea ports. From Sam's hunting trips, he kept rhino horns and animal skins to trade perhaps for medical supplies and a few luxuries such as English biscuits or other European sweets.

Scarcely had they begun to unload when a uniformed horseman approached them to announce that Mek Nimr expected them an hour after sundown, and he pointed toward a stone fortress atop the bluff. It was a commanding place for a sheik, but didn't look an inviting one.

"That was not an invitation, it's a summons," Sam said. "I don't want you to come. I'll take one of the men."

"Whatever it is you expect, I want to be with you."

"He'll want to know my business in this territory. The interrogation could be unpleasant."

"Perhaps, but he might also be offended if you appear with a servant or a body guard. I think I should go with you."

"I hadn't considered that."

They went together, bringing a gift the sheikh ignored at first. His flowing white robes billowed as he led them to two straight-backed chairs and then arranged himself on a divan. He stared from under heavy black brows as he asked where they had been, what nation they served, and what brought them to this region.

He listened to their plan for reaching Khartoum and for an adventurous hunt in that region. That they would spend time in Soudan did not please him, and he demanded an oath from Sam that he would not give officials there any information.

He peered at Sam intently for several minutes before saying he believed Sam was not spying for the Turks. Then he rose and showed them to a balcony overlooking the valley, his valley, he said, and only a part of a country that would flourish when all the invaders had been driven out. He then clapped his hands for the servant, who came with a tray of glasses and a carafe of wine. After they had lifted their glasses, he took notice of their gift and appeared greatly pleased by the rhino horn.

During dinner at a table that could have seated thirty or more, Mek Nimr made a flowery speech about Florence's charm and inquired about Sam's hunting experiences. By the time they were enjoying strong black coffee on the balcony, he asked if he might help them in any way. When Sam told him what he wanted from the market, the sheikh boasted that his traders could and would procure items from any place on earth.

The next day the desired items were delivered to their camp along with a gift of three sheep and a goat. The gifts and the man's generosity pleased Sam and Florence and made their trip through the market a pleasant excursion. They traded away the items they brought there and found most of those they needed.

From Gallabat, the river flowed northwest toward the Berber junction some 400 miles away. As soon as they were away from the bluffs, they would head west toward the Blue Nile's tributaries. Within two days they were on hard ground that stretched to the horizon and provided a firm footing for the animals. Vegetation grew sparse and limited to occasional clusters. The temperatures rose well above what they had become accustomed to, yet did not reach 100 degrees.

They were glad to be wearing the new cotton tunics and trousers, which allowed air to circulate and cool them by evaporation. The clothes met another test at the Rahad River, where the ford was deeper than most, and all they wore proved to be lightweight even sopping wet, and then quick to dry as they rode.

"Excellent work, Florence! Practical and comfortable."

"I'm really pleased. No man can imagine wearing skirts and petit-skirts. Isn't it odd what people put up with?"

"Not at all. We often endure discomforts and inconvenience without complaint, thinking that being miserable is a test of character when it is more likely a failure of the imagination."

"Exceptions are, of course, the Arabs and the Blacks, who dress sensibly, even handsomely, for the climate."

"A good point. I'm not sure what reasons most white men, myself included, choose to suffer rather than to follow native customs. Still, I can't quite see myself parading about in flowing caftans or gallabiahs."

"I can, and I shall see that you acquire some and wear them, at least for me."

After another week they crossed the Dinder River, and only one more stretch of rocky desert remained before they might reach the Blue Nile. They felt as if the air they breathed was on fire one fierce day when they overtook a solitary man slouching along astride a donkey and leading another bearing a load of tattered bundles. His shoulders bent around his hollow chest, and his hat hid all of his face except a scraggly beard.

"Halloo!" Sam called out. "You're an unexpected sight."

As they drew near, the man lifted the hat and squinted up at them with eyes sunk in a gaunt face.

"Englishers! How do you come here?" he croaked. "I am Johann Schmidt, carpenter, from Hanover."

"And you are alone in the wilderness, like Jesus. He was a carpenter, too," Sam replied. "Tell us what you came to build in Africa."

"You do not look like missionaries."

"No, we do not and are not. We travel for our pleasure, to learn, but not to reform."

"Then God be thanked. Enough I've had of them, already. Excuse my voice. I haven't used it for some days."

Schmidt's watery eyes shone with interest as they told him where their journey began and where it might end. He said he'd been coaxing his animals from one water hole to the next, hoping to reach Khartoum and find a doctor to treat his persistent fever and cough. He had parted with a missionary group when he found they were setting out to convert the Abyssinian Jews with copies of the New Testament in Tigre, a local dialect that neither the missionaries nor most Abyssinians understood; furthermore, in their medicine chests, the labels had come off nearly all the bottles.

"Foolish, but well-intentioned, I suppose," Sam said.

"That may be. I knew I could be no help to them."

Sam's eyes searched Florence's to be sure she shared his sympathy before asking Johann. "Would you like to join our safari to Khartoum?"

Johann accepted with a shy nod, and before long his shyness vanished and his hoarse voice grew accustomed to speech. In Alexandria, he said, he'd waited for an employer who hadn't shown up, and he met the missionaries, who arrived from Bremen and were on their way to establish a mission in Abyssinia. They said they could use a carpenter, so he went with them as far as Souakim, a Red Sea port where slavers and all manner of renegades thronged the waterfront.

"Already, I regretted my association with missionaries. So impractical they are. And the filthy port disgusted me. Quick I decided to make my own way. To Berber I wanted to go, but the desert was for me too much. So I go with the rivers. Now, here I am, not lost but glad to be found!"

"It's good fortune all around, then."

"I hoped the desert would help cure my cough."

"We have medicines that may make you more comfortable."

"We have the Sofis' herbs, too," Florence added. "And good food that will give you strength."

Achmed insisted on exchanging his horse for Johann's donkey, and they were able to cover twenty-five miles a day. When he had the opportunity, Sam asked Florence how she felt about Johann going with them when they left Khartoum.

"It's a good idea. Being on the river might clear up his cough."

"He needs to consult a physician in Khartoum."

"Of course. Do you think he might stay with us there?"

"If there's room at the consulate. I can't be sure."

"Oh, Sam, we mustn't leave him alone. He's very ill."

"I know."

As June drew to an end, they approached the Blue Nile below Sennar, where the river ran high at the peak of the spring flood. Its banks were already green, and they camped for two nights and enjoyed again the miracle of water on the desert. The herders waded into the shallows with their animals, and Achmed carried water to the tent for Florence's tub while Sam and Johann bathed in a deep wadi near the camp.

In the evening as they sipped brandy under the stars, Sam and Johann shared all they knew about Khartoum, and none of it suggested that the visit there would be an agreeable experience. It was the seat of government. Sam would report their presence and secure permission for further travel. He hoped there would be no trouble that couldn't be cleared up in the time it would take to provision and staff another dahabiah and noggur.

Within the week while crossing a high ridge, they saw Khartoum through dust and shimmering heat and despite their low expectations, felt eager to get there. The air grew thick with smoke from smoldering trash heaps as they passed a garrison that blended with the land near the outskirts of the city. No guard was on his feet, but lounging in the shade of the fortress walls were a dozen of Moosa Pasha's armed peace keepers, looking like a filthy rabble. They went on slapping down the cards or rolling dice, not more than two or three of them even looking up as the caravan passed. From somewhere beyond the walls a caterwauling erupted, followed by the sound of breaking glass. A gang of children in rags trotted along beside the camels, crying out for baksheesh and pulling at cargo bindings. Several barking dogs joined their begging pack, and Sam shouted at them in Arabic to get away. All retreated but one boy, who ran in silence beside them until Sam tossed him a coin and asked what he wanted to keep away the thieves and beggars while guiding them to the British compound.

The boy led the caravan through narrow, crowded streets that meandered among grim and dilapidated houses and shops. In places they forced their way through noisy crowds, jostled by scowling men astride donkeys, and besieged by beggars. It was usually impossible to steer away from open sewers, dung heaps, reeking garbage alive with maggots and remains of dead animals.

Often they had to detour to avoid an ox's bloated carcass or a sump of garbage and offal.

Finally they reached an open area, a market where flies buzzed around sides of goats and lambs that hung under awnings. In stalls vegetables and fruits lay artfully arranged in baskets or on rugs, and fragrant spices mounded on trays caused Florence to sigh with relief and pleasure. Beyond the market the streets widened and men drank coffee or tea at small tables while veiled women walked by with their baskets.

Instead of dilapidated houses, they saw high walls with gates of iron bars where men stood guard. Within a mile, they faced another square of shaded stalls where women veiled in black fingered bolts of cloth. On the far side of the dusty ground a white-washed wall loomed, and in its center was a timber gate with iron strapping. Above it a brightly painted red and gold crest caught the sun, and its lions heralded the British presence.

Sam raised an arm to halt the caravan and rode alone across the square where he dismounted and yanked a bell rope. At once a miniature gate swung out at eye level, and he handed his papers in through the opening. He paced back and forth for ten minutes before the entire gate began to rise. A portly, white-robed Soudanese bowab and four other bowing servants waited, and Sam turned and beckoned Florence and Johann forward, then shouted to Achmed to come along, too, and lead Sam's horse. When they were all inside, a servant led their drovers to the stables with their animals.

The _bowab_ led the four through a garden of palms and bright blooming shrubs where fountains bubbled into pools, and here and there a cage held birds with splendid plumage. When they entered the consulate's cool foyer, a young house servant, _safragi_ , took Achmed to the servants' quarters while another led Sam, Florence, and Johann up two flights of marble stairs to their rooms. In limited, precise English the servant explained that Consul John Petherick was away but that the staff expected them and would, of course, serve them well.

"I had no idea you had such good friends here," Johann said. "I am very fortunate to be with you. Now I shall go to bathe and sleep. Thank you, my friends."

Alone in a dressing room off their bedchamber, Florence and Sam shed their dusty garments and dropped them on the shiny floors. The clothes, Sam assured Florence, would reappear clean, pressed, and mended in their cupboards. Then together they sank up to their chins in a large tiled pool of fragrant water.

Afterward wrapping themselves in thick, soft towels, they chose silk caftans from those of various sizes that hung in an armoire. A servant had been in while they bathed, and all their soiled garments were gone. On a marble table were baskets of fruit and warm pastries and a carafe of wine. An amphora of water cooled on a stand near doors that opened onto a balcony where cushioned rattan chairs were arranged beside a low table.

At the balcony's rail, Sam put an arm around Florence as they looked out across the flame trees, and to the north saw the muddy blue-green turbulence of the Blue Nile invade the viscous gray of the White. To the west and south, lay green, irrigated patches and palm groves, and beyond them pale sands stretched all the way to the sinking red disk of the sun.

"This is hard to believe, Sam." She leaned her head against his chest and sighed, "I knew you'd look handsome in a caftan."

"You're very beautiful, Florence."

"It's hard to believe a place like this exists in the midst of this squalid city."

"Walls, behind more walls. Civilization hides itself here."

* * *

Florence sipped tea and gazed dreamily toward the horizon, her book open on her lap, while Sam sorted and read year-old papers and letters forwarded from Cairo. Finished reading the letters from his daughters, he handed them to Florence as casually as if he had always done so, then sighed.

"Life has offered me more riches than I am able to enjoy."

His strange tone and her own feelings prevented her from responding. The letters were pieces of Sam's life, his "riches," in which she had no part. Besides references to strangers, they held shy, formal expressions of affection for him. Their claim on him separated his life with them from the one she shared. Her confidence and security slipped away as envy and jealousy crept into her heart. Passing family letters to her was, she knew, a gesture meant to include her, but it left her forlorn.

Florence had never read the journals he wrote in every day, had simply not been curious to see what aspect of their travels he recorded. But passing behind him the next day when he was absorbed in writing, she glanced over his shoulder and read what he had just written: "I arrived at Khartoum, capital of the Soudan provinces, on 11 June 1862. Having had ample warning, I was not astonished by the squalor and filth of its narrow and teeming streets."

In that glance, she saw no sign that he was not alone, no mention of a companion taking part in Sam's adventures. It made little difference whether he kept her a secret from his family or from the public, but it did seem unnecessary for him to omit her from his journal.

She walked out of the room and up the stairs. Closing the door to their bedroom, she sat down at the dressing table and absently rearranged the hand mirror, combs, and lotions in glass vials. She picked up the hairbrush, plucked hairs from it, and deposited them in the hole in the top of a small porcelain pot made for just that purpose. It was an odd piece of bric-a-brac, and she started a laugh that caught in her throat and became a sob, and she slammed her brush down. Why should she care what he said in his journal?

In the two years they had been in Africa, she had been Sam's true partner in everything. And she believed he loved her. Even the Coptic priest could see their bond, yet she meant so little that he didn't acknowledge her existence in his record. When he wrote not _we_ but _I_ , that small word pointed to an answer she did not like to the question she dared not ask. Why had he never said they would marry?

* * *

When Sam had finished his paper work, he went to their room and found Florence sitting in front of the mirror dabbing at her face with cotton wool.

"You're ready for a life of idleness and vanity, eh? But what need have you for beauty potions?"

"It's a change, I admit, for me to preen so. It's cucumbers and yogurt. The woman who returned our clothes left it here, so she must think I need help." She dipped the cotton wool into the bowl again and rubbed her tanned face. "Perhaps she thinks I don't look like a lady."

"Servants are snobs. We'll see how Petherick's wife looks. In this place, a woman would have to stay inside or under a parasol every minute to keep her skin pale. You look just fine, but if I'm not mistaken, you've already lost some of your ruddy color."

Sam sat on the bed and watched Florence put aside the beauty potion and, with her back to him, begin brushing her hair. "Petherick took his wife with him up the river, and I hear they may be having a rough time of it. They were carrying extra medicine and food, on the chance they would meet Speke and Grant. Now they may all be in need of rescue."

"You are saying they've been lost?"

"Well, no, but they are all overdue. The Consul was eager to know if they've settled Speke's claim of finding the Nile's source when he was with Burton. Rumor has it they've encountered slavers or warring tribes or they are down with malaria." Sam paused and sighed. He assumed she was listening, but it was not easy, talking to the back of her head.

"I refuse to credit rumor. John Petherick is an experienced colonial officer. However, his absence complicates matters for us. We can go nowhere until we obtain official stamps on our papers. He could help. As it is, I suppose I shall have to beg for appointments and wait for interviews with the Viceroy of Upper Egypt. I detest waiting in antechambers, filling endless forms like some clerk."

"At least we're more than comfortable here," Florence said, but she didn't turn or stop brushing. "Is it possible that you, of all people, cannot put the time to good use?"

"Sorry, I really ought not to have complained. And there is much I might attend to."

"No need to apologize."

Sam felt rebuked by her cool detachment. Not once did she turn and look at him. He got up and stood behind her, putting his hands in her hair. He waited for her eyes to meet his in the mirror, but they did not.

"You are lovely, my dear," he said, and when he had no response, he left the room.

### Chapter 16

Khartoum, June 1862

The consulates and houses of the wealthy formed a clean, quiet enclave, yet the destitute carne. Beggars leaned on the walls baring stumps of mutilated limbs and open sores.

Often, a legless man scooted from gate to gate on a board with rollers under it, and women sat on the ground holding their infants out for passers-by to pity their pinched faces or runny eyes. The one time Florence ventured out with Sam, she was brought to tears at the sight of a maimed child.

Islam required the giving of alms, and she begged Sam to be generous although she knew there would never be money enough to eliminate such poverty. After that she stayed within the walls, often listening to Johann talk of his youth and recite Schiller or Novalis in German.

When Sam was out for the day, she slipped up the back stairs to join the women servants and servants' wives who gathered in a spacious, airy linen room. There they could talk as they ironed and folded the fragrant linens and clothing that had been hung on the roof to dry in sun and wind, and sometimes mended and sewed or did embroidering. A Nubian called Ferasha managed the house hold, a position of power usually held by a man.

Knowing Sam would not approve her consorting with servants, Florence didn't mention the hours she spent with them, sewing and practicing her Arabic. These women's families included in-laws and often aunts and grandparents as well, and their stories reminded Florence of the times she'd enjoyed with women in Sofi. These women, too, complained or made jokes, confident that what they told wouldn't be misinterpreted.

She told them how she had discarded corsets and petticoats and then proudly showed them the clothes she had made. Although momentarily taken aback by the trousers, they understood her purpose and admired the practicality. Only Ferasha, the one she thought least conventional, appeared to disapprove and silently kept her eyes on an endless piece of tatting.

Ferasha often seemed detached, listening, sometimes with a wry smile but not laughing. Usually her face was passive except for the rare brightening of her eyes, which at other times held something sharp and deeper than melancholy. Florence yearned to know the woman and, one day, pulled her chair close to Ferasha's and addressed her in a casual voice.

"A lovely name, Ferasha. What does it mean?"

"I don't know the English. In French, _papillon_ , you know?"

"Yes, butterfly."

" _Zebda debban_!" said a woman who overheard and repeated it and others. "It is a problem- flies like the butter."

Ferasha didn't laugh, and Florence felt responsible for the uneasiness that followed.

"Florence means _zahra_ or _fleur_ ," Florence said.

"And may you always be like a flower, _ensha Allah_."

Florence smiled her thanks. She admired Ferasha's strong features, straight black hair, the perfect teeth. The woman's dignity and beauty were commanding, Florence thought, but her sorrow must be substantial, perhaps tragic. She decided she must find a way to be alone with her. As the women laid down their work and slipped away for their rest, Florence stretched and managed to kick over the basket holding Ferasha's yarns. Spools scattered across smooth tiles and rolled under chairs.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! My foot must have been asleep."

By the time they had retrieved everything and she stood facing Ferasha, Florence knew her ploy had been transparent and didn't care.

"So, Madame Baker, you want to know all my secrets?"

"Of course I do. Don't you want to know mine?"

"I know them. Servants know everything."

"And tell nothing, is that right?"

"Not always. You hear them gossip."

"But not you."

"I will tell you about myself now because it is fair. I know about you. And I fear for you."

She noted Ferasha's composure and felt embarrassed by her own childish prying. Dreading what she might hear, not about this woman, but about herself, she sank to the floor. Ferasha squatted beside her and took her hand in her own firm grasp.

"I was very young when I went to serve him in Cairo. This John Petherick was newly come to Egypt, and he thought I was beautiful. He took me from all other duties. I was happy to love him. He is a good man. Three years ago he went home and married one of his own. Now I keep their house."

"But you are—." Florence clapped a hand over her mouth aghast at the word she had nearly delivered. She could only hope Ferasha had not understood.

"Yes, I am black. But I was his woman, just like you are Baker's woman."

Ferasha stood up, tall and straight, and strode from the room, and Florence slumped to the floor to consider her foolish preconceptions and her own limitations. How was she different from this Nubian servant? Or from those black women who had rolled their eyes and waggled their hips for Sam's amusement?

She recalled Sam's telling her of an African ritual in which the women rubbed oil on their bodies:

" _All over their feet, their bellies, their ears! Then with capes that cover their heads and reach the ground, they squat over a pot of burning incense until their bodies absorb and give off the fragrance. In some tribes, women are mutilated to stop their pleasure, the only way their men can keep them from other lovers. These women are not like white women."_

Had Sam heard these stories or seen for himself? These people are like children or animals, he said, not like us. But what about the proud Nubians? And if a man takes a woman like Ferasha, would he take any native woman? Would Sam have a native woman? If she hadn't come with him, would he? She imagined Consul Petherick looking very much like Sam and lying naked with the beautiful Ferasha, or looking into her eyes across a table, taking her hand. He must have loved Ferasha, for she was wise and handsome, more attractive than the Abyssinian women and certainly as attractive as many white women.

A great weight held her down, kept her from rising from the hard floor. Petherick had married his own kind, a suitable woman from a good family. Any other woman was the wrong kind, be she brown or black – or even a white foreigner. Who are these men that they can use birth as an excuse for betrayal?

"I don't know anything!" Florence moaned. Laying her face against the cool tiles, she sobbed.

The whole house lay silent and shuttered against the heat while the servants slept in their quarters. Florence crept to her own bed chamber, undressed, and lay on the bed, not expecting to sleep. The shutters admitted thin stripes of light, and she watched the filmy curtains stir and her eyelids grew heavy.

She didn't hear Sam enter the room and barely felt the bed move as he lay down beside her. But she sensed he was watching her, waiting for her to move into his arms as she usually did. This time she did not stir.

* * *

Evenings at seven-thirty, a servant brought three glasses of dry sherry to the dining room balcony where Sam, Florence, and Johann gathered to watch the sun slip into the sandy hills and listen to the last birdsongs in the gardens.

"The sundown aperitif," Sam said, "is a time-honored ritual by which foreigners maintain the civility of their home countries and separate themselves from native squalor and corruption."

"What would Khartoum be without foreigners?" Florence asked. "Was it here at all?"

Sam didn't feel like rattling off his usual historical summary, but the question brought to mind Khartoum's most profitable industry. He had been learning more of the brutal slave trade, and Johann suggested there was no way to separate economics from politics. The talk went back and forth between the two men. Sam had been reading stacks of newspapers kept for him at the Consulate over the last year, and he reported the old news.

"The southern states in America have seceded from the union, and their confederate armies have been winning battles under some very strong leaders. It may be that the slave trade will not be so easily stopped there. Ending slavery in America would affect the traffic everywhere. It is the backbone of the economy here and touches every official in Khartoum. Turks, Arabs, Egyptians all profit either directly or indirectly."

"And have the British taken a position?" Johann asked.

"Our position is complex. Our desire for general trade interferes with and, at the same time, expands the market in human flesh. But our anti-slavery stance makes our presence unwelcome. It contributes to the anxiety of legitimate traders."

"If the traders feel threatened," Johann said, "they might very well react with violence and ignite tribal wars."

"True enough. But they do us an injustice," Sam said. "Whatever our hopes and feelings, our longstanding policy is to develop legitimate markets here."

"Is it true," Johann asked, "the British want to occupy and rule East Africa?"

"To have dominion over, that is, to establish protectorates, and let the natives rule themselves, in their fashion. You know, the Arabs, Germans, Belgians, French all want the same thing. There will be many nasty little wars before we have rail lines and real commerce in Africa."

"Maybe not, if the United States fail to abolish slavery," Johann said.

"Do you think that can happen?" Florence spoke for the first time since her question had launched the discussion.

"It won't happen," Sam said, "I firmly believe my government will help the North to preserve the union. However, I intend to keep quiet here about an anti-slavery position." He sighed and looked around for the servant. He didn't want to say that here in Africa any interference on their part could cost them their lives. Officials could block delivery of supplies and refuse to issue or honor travel permits. Slavers were armed and ready to slay intruders without a qualm.

Every bearer and escort he hired could be his enemy, could murder them, abscond with their goods, and join the slavers. Sam decided he must change the subject.

"I've had a number of lessons this week, the latest from the Viceroy. He says that the _firman_ from Said Pasha is not valid and we have no rights here in the 'White River' over which he rules!"

"What can he do to us?" Florence asked.

"He can use force if we move without permission, though I doubt he will. He wants to intimidate me. And I will not be bullied. But for now let's not neglect that sunset."

Sam took Florence's hand and drew her to the balustrade as the blood-orange sun flattened itself against the desert. The White Nile shimmered, and below in their cages under the palms, baboons and birds fell silent. Florence was absorbed by the stillness, yet Sam felt she was withholding herself from him, as she had last night.

"Be careful, Sam. You might annoy the Pasha."

"Don't worry, dearest. I'll try to be tactful." Sam put an arm around her shoulders, but she turned away.

"I believe dinner must be ready." She walked over to the chaise where Johann lay and touched his arm. "Come on, Hannie."

Johann arose and walked beside Florence. Sam followed and asked himself what could possibly be wrong.

* * *

Florence again faced the mirror of her dressing table and took pins from her hair without looking at the mirror. She was aware of Sam pacing behind her, but when he spoke, she hadn't expected the peevishness of his words.

"You scarcely spoke at dinner. You weren't listening," Sam said. "Even Johann seemed to notice. What's wrong?"

Florence shrugged but made no denial as she slowly ran the brush from her scalp to the ends of her hair. He stopped pacing and stood behind her.

"What is it, Florrie?" he pleaded now, "you're not worried, are you? All our talk of slavery?"

"I have other things on my mind," Florence said, without letting their glances meet in the glass. "Why do you always expect me to respond to your choice of subject?"

"Of course you needn't do that. But I don't like your suggesting I'm a despot. Do I impose my will on you?"

"I'm sorry."

She would not turn, would not blurt out her complaints. She heard him move toward the table and the clink of crystal as he refilled his glass. She had no way to explain without showing her pettiness.

She was ashamed to admit she felt jealous of his children, hated his having a family, and had sneaked a look into his journal. And she didn't know how to talk to him about the Consul and Ferasha. At dinner when Sam had spoken of Petherick, Florence listened for clues as to whether he knew about Ferasha. All she learned was that Kate Petherick was strong, courageous, and utterly suitable for her role. She felt guilty for her punishing behavior and irritable because she couldn't justify it, much less stop it.

"Are you having second thoughts, Florrie? Will the expedition be too rigorous for you? Am I expecting too much?" His tone was conciliatory.

"I don't know what you expect! Tell me! Would you rather I didn't go with you?" She knew her voice quavered and her quick intake of breath was nearly a sob.

"By God, Florence, you're going to have to say what it is that's bothering you!"

Sam put down his glass and stood behind her and grasped her shoulders. Florence allowed him to turn her to face him. She lowered her chin and leaned her forehead against his body. He stroked her hair and sighed.

"When you are ready, Florence, let go of this mood, talk to me."

"I will, Sam, I will, when I sort it out a bit. I do love you."

"Well, then, I can wait."

Florence wanted to know his intentions and his feelings and had no idea how to have that sort of talk with him.

* * *

At breakfast Sam determined not to look for signs that Florence's mood had survived the night. She took part in small talk and then excused herself to visit Johann, who had not come down. Sam had another cup of coffee before he went to Johann's room, where he found them laughing together, and he seized the opportunity of her happiness to ask Florence to accompany him to the French Embassy. With Johann looking on, she agreed without apparent tension.

Outside the gates, Sam took her elbow firmly and guided her through the streets as he commented on the French plans for Suez, and on the dissolute emperor and his conniving empress.

"As for the ambassador, I'm told he is the epitome of French foreign emissaries, all arrogance and posturing. He dresses like a dandy, so I'm told, and behaves like a Turk. It is said he and the Pasha are thick as thieves."

"The housekeeper says he's gallant."

"Arab housekeepers! They have opinions on everything," Sam said and wondered when she had heard the housekeeper speak about the French Ambassador.

"Ferasha isn't an Arab, she's Nubian."

"A colored servant, Florence. Keep your distance. Remember your position."

"I don't know who said it. It wasn't Ferasha," Florence said. "Sam, do you know about Ferasha?"

"That she was Petherick's concubine? Of course. Everybody knows. He treated her very well, and she ought not to talk so much."

"She says very little, but she told me she had been his mistress. No, not that, exactly. She said she'd loved him."

"No doubt she did. But don't forget she's not white. Some things are possible, but not love, not friendship."

"So then, I may not be her friend, but her 'mistress.' She may not be his 'mistress,' but only his concubine."

"That is all true, if you want to play with language," Sam replied. He saw the lines etched from her flared nostrils to her lips and tried to ignore the shrill note in her voice. They had reached the gates of the French compound, and Sam's hand was on the bell pull.

"The English language!" Florence said and faced him with her eyes flashing. "To English men the rules are perfectly clear! Always so clear! Tell me clearly then, am I your mistress, or do you think of me as your concubine?"

She looked away. Sam drew a breath to speak but then said nothing. He felt as if she had slapped him, but the pain was worse than if she had. When she turned back there were tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Sam, I'm sorry," Florence said. "Forgive me."

"It's all right, Florence, we'll talk later. For now, calm yourself, and don't think about this sordid quarrel."

He pulled the cord and a bell chimed beyond the wall. A servant in red satin and gold escorted them through a formal garden and into the mirrored reception hall.

"Ah, what an occasion! The renowned English hunter honors us with a visit."

Striding toward them with both hands open before him was a young man, tall and slender with olive skin set off by the creamy froth of a ruffled shirt. His dark curls were scarcely tamed, but a neatly trimmed beard emphasized his high cheekbones and firm jaw. He bowed.

"And he brings his beautiful wife."

When Florence said later that she had never seen so romantic a figure, like the engravings of Lord Byron, Sam reminded her that the poet was none too honorable.

"Louis Ronsard, monsieur, at your service. I have only recently arrived in Khartoum, but I have already been told about you and Madame."

His glowing eyes and warm smile lent sincerity to this speech, and they returned his smile, as he motioned them toward a low table circled by Louis XIV chairs. Before seating himself, he struck his palms together twice, and two small boys in red coats brought trays. Sam noticed that Florence tucked her dusty shoes under the hem of her skirts.

For half an hour, Ronsard encouraged Sam's descriptions of their Abyssinian adventure. He did not explain the Ambassador's absence nor did he ask the purpose of their visit. Sam was aware of Ronsard's careful control of the conversation and also of his appreciative glances at Florence, even though she did not seem to notice. Then abruptly, Ronsard stood up and apologized for having to terminate this visit and asked if he might return their call soon.

"Of course, you will be welcome," Sam replied stiffly.

"Come on Thursday," Florence said. "Come for dinner."

"He manipulated us," Sam said as they walked home.

"He was charming, and so interested in our adventures."

"Well, thanks to you we will have another chance to see what sort of game he is playing."

Sam had found the whole performance annoying, but he also examined whatever Ronsard's motives might be for the peculiar interview. The Frenchman had made no mention of the Ambassador's absence, and possibly the man was there and did not wish to meet them. Sam felt certain Ronsard controlled the conversation to prevent Sam from steering it toward some subject Ronsard didn't want mentioned. Could he have been afraid they were being overheard or spied upon? Perhaps the rumors are true that Thibault and the Moosa Pasha are involved in something. At any rate, Sam had to admire the force of Ronsard's personality, and the visit had at least effected a change in Florence's mood.

In bed that night, Florence welcomed Sam into her arms, and he was more than willing to believe that whatever had been bothering her had been resolved or forgotten.

On the day of the dinner, Johann felt well and would indeed enjoy dining with them, and Florence felt that it would be like a party. Sam hoped they'd have an easier conversation or that, at least, Ronsard as the guest might relax and not dominate it.

Louis Ronsard arrived at precisely five minutes after the specified hour, and he was affable and clearly more at ease than in his own domain. Sipping an aperitif, he said he had feared for Sam's safety, and he himself did not feel entirely secure in his own consulate. He revealed details of the involvement of high officials, the French included, in slave-running. "They know you, Monsieur Baker, and traders fear your presence here. I understand you are a man who speaks his mind, and I did not want that to happen within the walls of our consulate, where one doesn't know who might hear."

As they discussed corruption and brutality, Florence told about seeing the slave train they had seen near the Atbara.

"It's a scene familiar to any who travel this continent.

Everywhere!" Ronsard said. "Many die on the trail, women give birth, and infants are abandoned. Their lives are worth nothing, a human being sells for less than two British pounds."

"It is difficult to imagine the magnitude of the operations, and the number of blacks sold to line the pockets of so many corrupt persons," Florence said.

"Indeed," Ronsard sighed, "after my long-held desire to come to Africa, all I have seen makes me wish only to flee."

"But there is hope," Sam said. "My expedition is not the only one here with other purposes, honorable ones."

"Your own honor blinds you, Monsieur. They will ruin whomever they can't corrupt. Even Petherick, they say—"

"You've heard something? Is he in trouble?"

"There are rumors. But he is presumed to be returning."

"I know him to be a decent man."

"Yet he may have to pay, in fact, may already have paid, for his decency. I beg you to reconsider your plans, Sam, you risk too much. Gondokoro is a far nastier place than Khartoum, and whatever is beyond it is unimaginable."

Sam stared at his glass in silence, turning the stem slowly to align the base with a figure in the damask cloth.

"I have made no dangerous moves and do not intend to. Our plan is to explore. It is not a crusade, and you need not worry."

"But you must not take Madame Baker beyond Gondokoro!"

"Think on it, my friend," Johann advised Sam, "maybe this is not the time for your venture."

"I will not turn back."

"Then allow me to escort Madame Baker to Alexandria," Louis Ronsard offered, "or even back to the continent, to wherever she might wait for your return."

Sam stared at the Frenchman as if he could not believe what he heard. Florence spoke before he could.

"Really, gentlemen! Have you forgotten I am here? I can speak for myself. Sam has made up his mind to go, and I mean to go with him."

"My friend," Sam said, "I believe you mean well. You have impressed me this evening with your sincerity and honor. I must tell you that I have been warned by others and, every step of the way, by my own conscience. My wife, I am determined, will not pay for my stubbornness. I will keep her safe, I swear."

Johann called Sam's attention to the serving man who waited in the dining room doorway, and they all went in to their places at the table. During the meal, they spoke of other interests, earlier travels and abodes, and soon felt comfortable addressing one another with their given names. After the flan was served, Johann excused himself, and the others took their coffee in the sitting room and talked for more than an hour.

As Louis bent over Florence's hand and bid them goodnight, it occurred to Sam that Florence might need more assurances about their plan than he had given her recently. He would remedy that lapse.

Then in the moment after the door closed on Louis, to Sam's astonishment, Florence flung herself into his arms.

"I go wherever you do, my dearest," she declared. "You're not disturbed by Louis' warnings?"

"What does he know of a world beyond his garden wall?"

"There may be something in what he says, but I believe we can protect ourselves when in dangerous situations. What we do will not cause other men to fear us or war against us."

Taking his hand and starting up the stairs, Florence looked over her shoulder at Sam, light dancing in her eyes.

"Sam, you know I worry only over trivial matters; Please, come to bed and make love to me, now, the rest, I leave to you. Please, now."

* * *

He had called her his wife. He said "my wife" as if there had never been any question. Florence knew she was in the wrong to have read his journal, wrong to resent his children and their letters. She would never speak to Sam about either matter. However, Ferasha would have to be discussed. Meanwhile, she resolved not to wallow in self-pity or leap to conclusions.

She and Sam would talk, and it would come out the right way. It must.

Florence sent word to Ferasha that she had things she must do and hadn't time for sewing. She did have one urgent task: she would go with Johann to the Consulate's doctor and then to the pharmacy. If he went out alone, she feared he might collapse and be taken to a charnel house or prison.

Johann obviously enjoyed her company and conversing with her in German. She knew he expected to die soon and would naturally recall early memories. She wanted to give him comfort and felt grateful to him for understanding her.

"It is a fine thing for me, to be with you and Sam as long as possible. You make me feel welcome and useful, too."

"You are our friend, Johann, my only friend but Sam."

She felt good when Johann and Louis Ronsard included her in all they said and accepted her as Sam's wife. It had been wrong to compare herself to Ferasha, futile to seek friendship from a woman who, because of position, could not be her friend. Worst of all, she had turned away from Sam, to whom she owed her very life. She must make her peace with things as they were, or else she must be brave enough to try to change them.

### Chapter 17

The Upper Nile

Moosa Pasha, the Governor General of Soudan, ignored the firman Colquhin had obtained for Sam in Cairo, saying that it applied to the Blue Nile and to Said Pasha's dominions only, not to what he called the "White River." He denied any assistance, even his permission to take possession of the boats Koorshid had ready, and appeals sent by diplomatic courier to Ismael Pasha, the new Viceroy in Cairo, went unanswered.

Egyptian authorities, Sam concluded, considered any British presence in the slaving provinces a detriment to trade. Although he recognized the risk, Sam assumed he could subvert their intentions with money. Having had the foresight to have cash available in Khartoum, he knew he could hire laborers and could bribe any officials who turned up at the docks.

By September all three boats were moored near Koorshid's warehouses and being fitted and supplied. In addition to ready money, Sam had, in Johann, a carpenter and overseer. Although Johann looked ever more emaciated and had wracking fits of coughing, he proudly put his carpentry to use supervising the fitting and overseeing the workers.

Two of the three boats were noggurs like the ones they'd left in Korosko, the dahabiah was trimmer and quarters somewhat smaller than the first one, but in essentials was comparable.

Sam hired thirty armed guards and forty sailors from Kordofan and Dongola. For his dragoman, he chose a powerfully muscled young black named Richarn, who had been in Christian schools and spoke good English. Sam had them all outfitted in pants, shirts, and boots, and he drilled them in military fashion. He also advanced them six months' wages above their food and housing and arranged for the wives and children to share clean quarters with them until sailing time.

Achmed helped Sam select two cabin boys from among a group of Nubians who had worked in hotels and mess halls and two more servants to maintain their quarters and do laundry. Sam sent away a persistent Libyan whom he saw as too young, but that same evening while he and Florence were in the garden, the boy came to a rear gate, dusty and obviously tired. Sam offered him a drink of water, and once inside, the boy fell to his knees in front of Florence and begged to be taken on. He said slavers stole him from his mother, then decided he was too young and dumped him in the desert. He was picked up by a patrol and taken to a convent where he learned English.

"I am Christian and ready to work. Please, I can. I am twelve years and am called Saat," he said with an enormous, toothy smile.

Watching Florence's face, Sam knew what the answer had to be. Saat would be a cabin boy or errand boy, helping in any ways he proved most capable.

Tiring as it was, their work was satisfying; furthermore, no officials had yet interfered. They spent many evenings dining with Louis Ronsard in the British Consul's house and were usually joined by Johann. They were invited a few times to the home of Louis' friend Serge Lambrosio, an archaeologist, where they were fascinated to hear about his work and to hear occasional news of the outside world.

Sam was saddened to learn that Prince Albert had died, and Queen Victoria grieved so profoundly her advisors worried. Bad news came also from America where the war went badly for the union; however, in Russia, the Czar proclaimed an end to serfdom.

"After we leave here, we'll be fortunate to have any word at all of the outside world," Sam commented.

"I gather from what you've said, you don't hesitate to go forward with your plans," Ronsard said, his eyes on Florence.

"None whatsoever. We are well prepared."

"And eager for our next adventure," Florence added and put her hand on Sam's.

They boarded the boats on December eighteenth, a Thursday, which, according to the Arabs, was one of the luckiest days to start.

The dahabiah's larger cabin was for Florence and Sam, the second cabin for Johann, relegating Sam's paper work to the main room. Quarters for Achmed and the cabin servants flanked the galley.

Richarn and his chosen aides were quartered with the rest of the crew on the noggurs. Richarn shared his command with Johann and also oversaw the stable-hands who took care of the three horses, four camels, and twenty donkeys stabled on the second barge. Later milch goats and chickens, and any other livestock they could use aboard what Florence called their farm.

Sam was making a final inspection of the men's quarters when a hubbub broke out on the dahabiah. A mean drunk clutched Osman, a cabin boy Achmed had selected, and shouted he had not yet been paid for his son. At the man's back, a woman scolded and tugged his shirt but stepped away when Sam appeared and restrained him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Release the lad. I have his papers." Sam dropped coins in the woman's hand and ordered the man off the boat.

"I apologize, sir," Osman said with tears in his eyes. I am tired of beatings. I do not want to be his son."

"It's all right now. The missionaries taught you well, and we promise you a safe place and kind treatment."

All hands had said farewell to their families who had moved down to the water's edge. The children still ran about as if at a festival, but the women stood close together, their eyes on the men. Louis Ronsard and Serge Lambrosio stood on the pier with a group of school boys waving French and British flags.

* * *

Determined not to miss a moment of their departure, Florence climbed to the deck atop the cabin. From there she watched the crew at their stations awaiting Sam's order to haul in the gang plank. Suddenly three horsemen rode across the top of the dike and down through the crowd, scattering women, upsetting baskets, and spilling water jugs. Hooves clattered on the pier, and a scowling Turkish officer stood in his stirrups and shouted that he carried an urgent notice for the person in command. When Sam stepped forward, the Turk bellowed:

"Halt, by the order of Moosa Pasha, Viceroy of the White River region and Soudan!"

He dismounted and started up the gangplank, but Sam planted his feet firmly at the top with arms akimbo.

"Our papers are in order. We will sail. Back off!"

"Papers? You paid no tax. The head tax is due! It is owed for every person aboard. You will not sail until the debt is satisfied."

The Turk took a few steps up the ramp and stopped an arm's length from Sam. He was taller than Sam but stood lower on the ramp, and Florence saw they were eye to eye, the Turk glowering. Though unable to see Sam's face, she knew he would be scowling with equal menace.

The officer thrust the papers at him, but Sam gave them not a glance and kept his hands clasped behind himself.

"I am neither an Egyptian nor a Turk. I'm not a trader, but I am a British subject and am legally in this land. Outside my own country, I do not pay taxes to local governments," Sam said in a voice that all could hear. "I possess documents permitting my expedition to pass through your territories. If you attempt to board my boat, I'll throw you overboard."

Sam stepped back onto the deck and signaled his sailors at the pulleys. The gangway creaked and the Turk had to leap back to avoid being toppled into the river. At that moment, Saat raised the Union Jack on the dahabiah's mast. Ronsard led his group in a cheer. The spectators whistled and hooted at the vanquished horsemen, and Florence released the breath she'd been holding and joined in hurrahs for Sam.

The shouting died down as the boat moved away from the pier, and the women raised their voices in ululation. Tears sprang to Florence's eyes as she wondered if these families understood how long the men might be away.

The sailors were working the boats into the stream when a government boat heading downstream scraped the dahabiah's side and snagged on lines already secured. Florence hadn't seen the boat approaching, and its broadside slam nearly knocked her off her feet. Above the din that ensued on both boats, she heard the captain berating Sam for being in his way and threatening the wrath of officialdom. Sam's crew, undaunted and eager to fight, scrambled toward the hull that nudged the dahabiah. But Sam ordered them back.

Florence couldn't hear what he said and was dismayed when he swung a leg across the rails and boarded the government boat. He faced the captain, and the men on both boats fell silent, gaping.

"I believe you know who is at fault here," Sam said, loudly enough to be heard on both boats. "I ask that you replace our broken oars immediately and stand clear for us to get under way."

The captain closed his mouth, looked around at the damage, and spoke to Sam in a low voice, then shouted orders to his men to bring oars and pass them across to the crew of the dahabiah.

Sam saluted him and, as he climbed back to the dahabiah, his crew cheered. In another minute another great hurrah arose from those on the bank.

Sam's performance in these encounters filled Florence with pride. He acted without a moment's hesitation. She felt glad she'd put her life in his hands, and she wanted to run to him and tell him so. But Sam had already turned to the tasks at hand. When she saw the canvas billow in a strong gust of wind, she came down to stand beside him.

"I confess I took some pleasure in confronting these few obstacles to our departure!" He slipped an arm around her waist. "But I'm relieved it's not Friday or we might have had bad luck."

Florence was laughing about Sam's enjoyment of difficulties when a sailor came to report that the dahabiah had sprung several leaks.

"Fate obliges you, Sam," Florence said, "no matter what day it is."

She went back up to the top deck and waited for Sam to join her. It felt good to be on the river again and leaving Khartoum. Yet taking a last look at a place she had found so repugnant, she saw the sun's rays striking the minarets of an exotic city.

The next morning they put in at a landing where a supply of feed corn and three goats were brought on board using a sling and pulley system. The crew slaughtered an ox on shore and took the meat aboard for drying.

A steady wind continued to drive them upstream past villages of sun-burnt houses. The flat land changed within a few days from palm groves to sand dunes and then to gray, flinty soil littered with stubble of a sorghum harvest. Black men came to the river with herds of bony white cattle with small, straight horns.

When she tired of watching the shore or reading, Florence could usually find Achmed and Osman on the afterdeck and would talk with them in Arabic as they pounded dried manioc into flour. Often, she sat on the veranda with Johann, who worked the noggurs only while Richarn took his meals or was otherwise occupied.

In the evenings, they anchored in midstream to keep away from insects that bred in reeds along the banks. They often had dinner on the top deck and remained there afterward while Johann named all the constellations. He became thinner by the day, and at night his cough deprived him of sleep, and it wasn't long before he became too weak to oversee the noggurs at all. Since the cabins were hot in the daytime, he lay in a hammock on the upper deck.

One morning they anchored at Kosti, and Richarn took three men ashore in the rowboat to buy grain. At sunset he rowed back to the boat alone and reported that the men had been drinking with traders in the market and slipped away. Sam paced the deck, cursing and devising ways to teach them a lesson when and if they tried to slink back on board. Florence suggested that if the men didn't return, it was a small loss, but Sam did not listen.

The next morning Sam poled the tin bathtub ashore and when he returned to the shore with six sheep, he called out to Richarn to bring the flat-bottomed boat. After that, it took the rest of the morning to get the frightened sheep into the boats and then aboard the dahabiah. Sam muttered in exasperation while on the shady deck, Florence and Johann watched with amusement.

"You may well laugh," Sam grumbled, "but we've lost precious time, and there's no sign of the bounders. After they bid good bye to their drunken friends, they'll come crawling back. Then, by God, they'll enjoy a steady assignment to mucking out the stalls. Two months of manure will teach them duty."

"Yes, Sam, we laugh, but we know you are right. Discipline is necessary," Johann agreed, "and I am no help. You need a strong second officer."

"We'll manage, Johann. Richarn is strong and able, and he will learn to be stricter."

When Sam went to the stern with orders for the men on the noggurs, Florence looked at Johann and shrugged.

"You see, Hannie, you're not needed any more than I am. Sam can do it all."

"Don't believe it, Florence. He needs you for yourself. Your presence is a gift. He needs you the way he needs the sun, moon and stars."

"Your German romanticism! It doesn't apply. Sam quotes poets, too, but though my heart wants to agree with you, I do believe it's nonsense."

"Be careful, Florence. You have a steely streak in you that may be hard for a man to accept. I don't know if Sam sees it yet, but if I were in love with you, I would worry."

"It may be what kept me alive before I met Sam. And it may be what sustains me now sometimes."

"I know what is hurting you, dear friend, but believe me, Samuel Baker needs you far more than you need him."

"No, no, that isn't true. I am utterly dependent on Sam. I owe him everything."

"Everything? Surely not. In a partnership, you must not think of owing."

There was little about her life Johann didn't understand. He didn't pretend to wisdom, yet with a story or a diplomatic comment, he could alter her perspective. Even though Sam had called her stoic, she wasn't sure what Johann meant by "a steely streak." She had learned early on to expect losses but only recently to feel strong, but _steely_? She did like the thought that Sam might need her.

The winds were fitful, dying, and the boats scarcely moved. Broken, half-submerged tree trunks, floating islands of green and yellow spurge scraped and thudded against their hulls. The rocky fields became clay, then gave way to swamps and scrub, and in place of Arabs, naked blacks worked the fields. Now and then smoke rose from a copse to indicate dwellings, and at night they heard drums. The crew waded in the reeds on the sandy east bank to cut firewood and locate strong timber for the constant repairs. Saat and Osman went along to pick fruit from tamarind trees along the marshy banks.

Florence helped Achmed make plum pudding with tamarind pulp, dried dates and raisins. She declared fish inappropriate for their Christmas dinner, so Sam paddled the bathtub into the shallows among reeds and tree roots. He was away for hours but came back with twenty grouse-like birds.

Florence's plans for Christmas provided a good lesson for Achmed, for whom Christmas was puzzling despite stories Florence told him. With the help of Saat and Osman, they had a joyful time preparing dinner for the entire crew, who then spent the day lounging on the decks and playing flutes and drums. On the top deck, Florence and Johann watched Sam light a cigar and pour Madeira for a toast to friendship. As daylight faded, they saw a pure white crane pose briefly on one leg before lifting its broad wings and soaring away. It disappeared over a rise where two antelopes stood silhouetted against the purple sky.

Although evening breezes cooled his cabin, Johann wanted to sleep on deck. He told Florence he couldn't bear to stare into blackness, but on deck he could watch the stars. Sam and Achmed brought a cot and Florence added extra pillows before settling herself on a chair at his side.

"What does the blackness hold, Johann? Ghosts of the past, regrets? Are you afraid?"

"Afraid to die? No, my dear. Afraid of not being able to die. The blackness is not dying, it is emptiness. I want to die while I love life and am able to see the stars and your face and hear Sam's warm, confident voice."

"Oh, Hannie. Is there someone who should know where you are, what has happened to you?"

"I turned my back on people when I came to Africa. I had nobody who mattered, only the girl I told you of, but she does not need to know. Her life is full. You and Sam are my first friends in years. So good. Good to take in an old alley cat needing a home when he is about to die."

"I know you've lost everyone along the way. It's why you understand my fears. But we have all found one another. You are not alone, Hannie."

"And you have nothing to be afraid of, Florence. I tell you, you will not lose Sam."

She believed him, sometimes. This life was theirs, but Sam had another life to return to. But now Johann needed peace; she wouldn't argue with his prophecy. She sat by him until he slept.

In the morning his breathing was harsh and shallow, and he could scarcely blink his eyes when she spoke. Florence stayed at his side through the day, bathing his brow, reading to him from his German Bible, Matthew 2, Luke 1 and 2. Then turning to John 1:5, she read, "And the light shineth in darkness," and thought about her mother dying under the clear, cold northern sky with a promise on her lips: "The morning will come but so, too, the night – " Those last words, meaningless to her then, still held no comfort, for it seemed that mornings brought only loss. Yet for Johann, perhaps morning would bring peace.

She took both of his hands and prayed it would.

After midnight his breathing eased, and she went below. Sam lay sprawled on their bunk, and she pulled off her clothes and lay next to him. Though not expecting to sleep, she stared only a few minutes into the darkness.

During the night she awoke to feel the boat moving and Sam gone. She heard lines rattling in the wind, a good sign, she hoped, and she fell back to sleep until the noises of the crew woke her.

Springing from her bed, she hurried to wash and dress, but when she reached the upper deck, Johann still slept. She laid a hand on his feverish brow, and he opened bleary eyes but did not reply and couldn't drink the water she held to his lips. All day she sat at his side, bathing his face and wrists. Occasionally he stirred and muttered a word or opened unseeing eyes, and then Florence murmured assurances that he was not alone.

That night the wind blew hard, and the boat plunged wildly as roiling water swamped the main deck. Florence dressed and sat beside Johann, keeping him covered and out of drafts. Sam and the crew worked ceaselessly bailing and pumping water from the holds. At dawn when they could see the flat tops of acacias near the banks, Sam took men ashore to cut wood to repair the masts. Florence stayed at Johann's side. She would read and drowse, then jolt awake and feel for his pulse.

The next night the boat rode in quiet water, yet in his sleep Johann twitched and moaned, and Florence left his side only briefly while Osman took her place. In the morning Florence saw that Johann didn't move when a fly walked across his face, but the commotion of the sail being raised woke him. He began a series of coughing fits, each lasting until a paroxysm brought forth a black clot. Then as a flow of red stained the pillow, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Florence ran to fetch Sam, who counted Johann's pulse and studied his face.

Florence changed the pillow case and continued to bathe his face. Hours later he whispered their names. She called Sam and, together, they heard Johann's words.

" _Ich bin sehr dankbar_."

Johann Schmidt died on the last day of 1862 on the Nile river 350 miles south of Khartoum, in the heart of Soudan.

They had seen no natives since picking up the grain and animals, but knowing that slavers roamed the land and natives feared every stranger, Sam posted sentries on the boats. Achmed, Osman, and Richarn helped him get Johann's body onto the small boat, and Saat ferried Florence in the tub. On the west side of the Nile, they shrouded Johann in a blanket woven by Sofi women and buried him by the light of a full moon. To the tamarind cross, Florence fastened the epitaph Sam had written on a sheet of heavy paper which he had encased in isinglass made from a blowfish Johann had caught:

No useless coffin o'er his breast, No sheet nor shroud to bind him; Here lies a pilgrim at his rest, Where only his God shall find him.

Back aboard, though the wind was cool, neither Florence nor Sam wanted to go below. Clouds hid the stars, letting black land blend with black sky and black water. Sometimes they heard a small creature break the water's surface or a crocodile thrashing through the reeds, a hippo flopping in the mud. At the close of their third year together, Florence and Sam held each other close in the palpable darkness.

### Chapter 18

Over their morning coffee, Sam confessed to feeling glum. "I've been sorting through Johann's belongings, and I keep wishing we could notify someone somewhere."

"He said he had no one but us, no one at all to notify. He didn't want to die in alone Khartoum or on the desert. What mattered was he was not alone."

"I know. Yet it's like erasing his life."

They found no mementos, only his clothing to give to the crew. Sam carried his charts and books from cupboards in the main room and stacked them in the room, and Florence went up to the top deck. Saat had taken the cot below, and she sat in her chair now and looked out at the river, staring at geese and some tall wading birds at the river's edge. Shillook men knee-deep in the river speared fish while others poled a raft upstream, giving the boat a wide berth. But when Florence lifted her hand in a wave, they waved back.

Amid tilled fields, windowless huts with smooth thatch roofs sprang up like mushrooms. Near them in the dirt, women squatted, pounding grain and tending pots on smoky fires. Florence had seen them earlier carrying water from the river in jugs on their heads and didn't see why cattle couldn't carry the water. The men drove them twice a day to the river, and Sam said cattle were too valuable for work. She thought about women being of small value, yet working the fields as well as taking care of families.

Within a week, they came to the mouth of a river that flowed from the east, the Sobat, by Sam's calculations. He steered the dahabiah half a mile up its clear water and filled their tanks. Achmed and Osman set fishing lines and the crew gathered fodder. Later the men bathed in the river and Florence in the tin tub.

Back on the Nile in the early morning, they glided westward into a bend where the river widened and spread into the reedy shallows. The current vanished and at sundown the wind died. They spent the night under netting as insects sung around them. In the faint morning light, the sound of creaking timbers woke Florence and she saw Sam was by the bed pulling on his trousers.

He leaned over for a kiss and told her to go back to sleep, but after a few moments she arose and went to the galley to make tea and took a mug to the wheelhouse.

"Thanks, Florrie. With this good wind we may make headway today."

At the end of the monotonous day, however, the wind failed them and another sluggish tributary, the Gazal, brought clumps of floating vegetation into the Nile. Papyrus and reeds obscured the water's edge, and above it the banks rose sixteen or eighteen feet. On the upper deck, Florence focused her eyes on landmarks to gauge their progress and perceiving none, looked down for a bow wave and saw none. In the thick, moist air only plovers and swifts moved, perching on islands of brush, then suddenly rising in agitated flutters to descend onto similar clumps. Crocodiles lay like logs among the reeds, and hippos kept only their eyes and snouts above water. She envied their perfect escape from swarming gnats that drifted across the water and into her hair and eyes.

As the sun sank, a few naked natives poled rafts among the reeds and speared fish. The men were heavy and muscular compared to the scrawny desert tribesmen, and their ritual scars lay like strings of beads across their chests and backs and threaded their way down to buttocks. Their hair was coifed into helmets by mud and painted maroon and white, and the same colors on their pubic hair emphasized their genitals. Florence looked on with the same curiosity she turned on birds and animals. If she could draw, she'd include details Sam chose to obscure with a leaf or frond.

* * *

For four days the boats wallowed in the swamp while the men worked the lateen hoping to catch a stray breeze. The odor of stagnant water and rotting vegetation hung in the air, and the men grumbled and argued as they caulked leaking hulls. Sam shared their frustration and before dark dropped the sail and handed over the helm to Richarn, telling him to hold course and wake him at any sign of trouble.

Florence was already asleep when Sam stripped and lay beside her under the netting. Later he snapped awake, amazed to have slept, and besides the usual creaking, he now heard scraping and thudding noises. In the pitch black cabin, he fought his way out of the limp netting and Florence awoke.

"What is it, Sam? Why are you awake?"

"Noises. I need to investigate."

"Trouble?" Florence sat up in bed, fumbling with her shift.

"There's no light but I'll try to see what's going on."

He groped his way out of the room and through the passage way to the dim lantern at the ladder. Neither moon nor stars shone in the murky night, but the scraping was less loud on deck.

He saw the wheel was unmanned but secured with ropes, and heard Richarn at the stern calling to men on the noggurs. Leaning on the taffrail, Sam could make out clumps of water hyacinths matted together, looking solid enough to walk across, but no noggurs were in sight. When he turned, Saat was beside him, rubbing his eyes and saying Richarn had awakened him to share the watch. "There was a moon, Captain. Then it was gone."

"Secure the rudder, Saat, we're not moving."

"I know that, but not know what to do."

"Go get some rest until sun-up. What to do is to call for help. Next time you don't know, just stamp hard on the decking. I'll hear you." Sam called out to Richarn, "When did you lose sight of the noggurs?"

"I don't know, sir," Richarn mumbled, his head lowered.

"Asleep, were you? Expecting Saat to do your work?"

"Yes, sir. I called him. I couldn't keep awake."

"We might have run aground," Sam growled, but he was relieved to feel the decks were still level. "Launch the pinnace. We'll find the damned barges."

Sam called Achmed to wake Osman and start breakfast for the crew. Then he and Richarn tried to pole the little craft through the vegetation and failing, they stepped into the shallow muck and slogged a few yards along the bank. They saw the noggurs still afloat and shouted to wake the watch. Sam was furious and ordered the watchman to get men into the water to hack away the clumps of grass and reeds.

"Now, it's up to you," he said to Richarn. "Work them in shifts and get them moving."

The sky was pink when he climbed back on board the dahabiah. Florence was at the rail and Achmed was bringing pails of clear water. As Sam stripped off his muddy clothes, they poured water on him and searched his body for leeches.

Crews worked in the turbid waters, shift after shift, until they had slashed away the putrid vegetation. Insects swarmed into their ears and eyes and stuck to the sweat and mud that glazed their bodies. Achmed and Osman sloshed water over the men and handed out bowls of oats and stewed fruit. When Sam decided the work was futile, he called for a round of grog and admitted to Florence he had no plan but to wait for a wind.

Difficult as doing nothing seemed, he assured everyone that at any moment a current might find them and they'd feel the boats float free. He'd been told the Sudd was navigable and, lacking other evidence, believed it was so.

"It has been done," he declared. "And we will do it. Slow and choked as it is, it is still the Nile."

And as if to support his claim, a mast came into view down stream from them, and by dinner time, a trim dahabiah overtook them. On its deck an Arab crew wielded long, stout poles to fend off clumps of vegetation, and at the prow stood Koorshid Aga. He waved and smiled as his vessel gently nudged their stern and he climbed aboard. His glowing eyes suggested he might be almost as happy to find them as they were at his arrival.

"My English friends! _Ya salaam_! It is splendid to find you in this morass!"

" _Ahlan wa sahlan_ ," Sam said to welcome him.

" _Khod rahtak, zaifi berak_!" Florence said, "Be at home." Koorshid was delighted. "Ha! _tetkkalam Arabee_."

" _Aiwah_ ," Sam replied. They had been practicing their Arabic.

However, Koorshid liked to show off his own precise English and did so, offering a roasted turkey and a bottle of brandy. He had been bored on his journey, he said, and was eager for stimulating conversation.

"We haven't been bored, but nearly desperate. We welcome you to our table."

"Oh, yes, and we also welcome your turkey," Florence added, not mentioning how long they had been dining on boiled buffalo.

They lingered at the table talking of the year-and-a half since they'd been in Berber. Sam expressed gratitude for past help and present comfort, and in particular for encouragement, which no one but Koorshid had given them. He hadn't merely sounded warnings, but provided useful information.

At dawn as Koorshid's boat slipped past their boats and sailed away, their dahabiah seemed to rise, and soon they could feel it riding on deeper water. Within another hour, their sails caught wind enough to buoy their spirits. They were again on their way against the sluggish currents of the river, the sun broiling them all day and humidity suffocating them at night. But sunsets brought sights of egrets and blue-gray shoebills diving for lungfish, and darkness brought clear skies that Sam needed to verify their position with his sextant.

"I've opened a bottle of whisky," Sam said as he sat down next to Florence. "Have one with me, Florrie."

"Don't waste it on me."

"You might like it, it's good for your gizzard."

"I feel fine, thanks."

"The days exhaust the workers, but time goes faster than it may for you. Do you feel a bit low? Is it boredom?"

"I'm never bored! Actually, it's Johann. Sorry. I don't mean to be snappish. His death changed things."

"Come now! You and I are together under a starry sky, afloat on the Nile. Of course, you miss Johann; I do, too. But you and I are all right. Nothing has changed."

"I miss his conversation, our long talks."

"You can talk to me- any time, more or less."

"Not like that. We don't discuss feelings. Not easily." She paused and didn't look at him. "I've never explained why I was angry in Khartoum."

"I hoped you would. If you recall, I asked you to tell me when you're ready. You know how I feel."

"No, I don't know. I think you love me. Usually I do."

"You don't know! Florence, I've wanted you from the moment I saw you. I didn't believe it was right, but I did. And I do want you, love you. I thought you understood that."

"Perhaps we should not talk of love, not even question it. But we are still strangers in some ways."

"Perhaps, but—"

"If I begin to tell you what bothers me, you must let me finish. Then I will listen."

"All right, Florence, your terms are clear." Sam frowned as he poured another drink.

"Then I think I will have a glass of whiskey," she said, drawing a deep breath, "or at least a sherry."

In talking to Johann, Florence had distilled her concerns. He had held threads of her tangled feelings while she undid the knots and found the words. She rehearsed them in her mind and now hoped to make Sam understand.

"In Widdin, I was afraid at first, but soon I trusted you. I knew you were kind. You reminded me of my father."

"It was reasonable to be afraid, of me or any man."

"Nevertheless," she waved away his interruption. "I saw that I made you uneasy. I didn't know why."

"Oh, my dear, you have never understood how deeply you affect me."

Sam took her in his arms with a fervor he hadn't shown for some time. She returned his kiss, then pulled away.

"Sam, we do have strong feelings, but let me go on. I must get this out."

"Yes, but it was good to pause for a moment. I needed to touch you."

It was not easy to say, but Florence told him she had felt she wasn't good enough, not acceptable.

"I was sure you wouldn't marry me. I knew I wasn't like Adrianna. Not strong nor wise. And I needed security so much I was afraid to speak."

"You were feeling all this back then, when we were still in Constanta?"

"Yes. So I told myself if I went with you to Africa, we would be far from people you knew, and I would be so brave and good to you that nothing could part us."

"About that you were right, my dear. And then?"

"Well, it seemed to be working that way until Khartoum. Suddenly I saw myself as Ferasha. I was furious when you spoke critically of her. But I knew, when Louis offered to take me back to Europe, that I couldn't change my mind."

She had come to the hardest part and hesitated. Sam again reached for her, and she shook her head and saw his rueful smile as he poured himself another whiskey.

"I knew in my heart that if you really loved me, you'd marry me, and I couldn't bear that you never said so. And then I put off thinking about it and just hoped one day you would love me enough to marry me, and none of this would matter."

"Oh, God, Florrie, the errors I've made! Never would I choose to cause you pain."

"Don't tell me now, let me finish. I don't think about it all the time. I'm usually quite happy. After Ferasha, I saw myself as someone you might love, really love, yet never marry. Then I thought, well, maybe it won't come to that, maybe we would not return from Africa, and you'd never leave me to marry an English woman."

Sam started to speak, but she held up a hand. She stood and went to the rail and looked at the stars, blinking back the tears. She drew a deep breath and went on.

"I know this offends you, Sam, and I'm sorry. I did see myself as Ferasha and was angry with Petherick and you! And with myself, for my stupidity. I saw Louis was attracted to me, and I thought I could be, should be, acceptable as a gentleman's wife. I was no longer the poor orphan you found, but a grown up woman."

"By God, Florence, I've heard all I can stand. I must have a chance to speak."

"What right have you now to be angry?"

"Not angry, appalled! And not with you, but with myself. How have we managed to be together so long and not understand one another better?"

"All right. If you aren't angry "I'm disturbed by what you say. How could I not be? I have been sorting it out. I may seem dull-witted, but I was not aware you needed explanations or more assurances."

She saw his sadness and said, "I will listen."

"Listen with your heart, Florence. I love you. I can't imagine life without you. We will marry when we can. I will never leave you, nor will I ever let you go unless you tell me you do not love me."

Through her tears, Florence saw the tears in Sam's eyes. They clung together wordlessly for a long time, then went below to lie together.

The next day to busy herself, to keep from reviewing all she had said to Sam, Florence picked out a book called _Tales From Shakespeare_ by two English writers named Lamb. It was nice to know somebody had made the plays easier to read by telling exactly what is happening in them.

But by mid-day the emotions of the night before and the need for further resolution began to assert themselves. She laid the book aside and went below and directed Achmed and Osman in tidying up the galley and reorganizing it.

* * *

That evening after dinner, Sam picked up two glasses and the whiskey bottle.

"I believe we have a rendezvous on the veranda," and because she looked astonished, he added, "I am not making light of it, Florrie. Just a bit self-conscious."

Seated on the upper deck, they looked into each other's eyes, and Sam began a speech of a sort he had never made. He had apologized and now would explain himself to tell Florence.

"I still don't know what prompted me to bid for you at the auction. A bitter mood; the trip and revisiting my youth left me jaded, weary. I had no plan for the future. Then I saw your innocent and frightened face. I knew with certainty what awaited you and acted on impulse. I was sad that you feared me, yet your composure amazed me. I knew my impulse had been right, but what was I to do with you? In Bucharest, I sought a solution."

"To rid yourself of me?"

"Yes. Obviously, I had no business having you in my charge, other than that I had assumed responsibility."

"I knew that, but you were so calm."

"I thought the plan I tried to work out was feasible. You learned quickly and could have been a governess. But I grew attached to you, seeing you blossom. Before I knew it, you were no longer a helpless child but a beautiful young woman, vibrant and joyful. And I wanted you.

"I told myself I must be honorable, that it would be despicable to make any advances. Nevertheless, I made them. Once I held you in my arms, I wanted to continue. You seemed to like me, even my touch. That was it. I chose to flee with you, anything to delay giving you up. I took you to a place where we could be alone. I couldn't justify what I did, but you made it easier when you shared my dreams of Africa."

"I lost interest in all the world but you and Africa. I think this is where we were in total harmony, Florrie: we set out to make our own world on a new continent."

Tears were coursing down Florence's cheeks, but she never took her eyes from Sam's face. He drew a breath and reached for her hands.

"You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, yes. It doesn't seem complicated, after all."

And that was it, however, he was uneasy for having withheld two parts, held back out of shame. He was ashamed to tell her he dreaded exposing her to his family, believed they'd say he'd disgraced them and ruined his daughters' chances, and therefore, they could not accept Florence. Their rejection would destroy her self-esteem. The second barrier to his marrying her was his own pride. He could not bear that she marry him out of gratitude or because she knew no better, knew no other man, and like Amanda in "The Tempest," loved the first man she saw.

These matters he found almost unbearable to think about, let alone to speak of to anyone, least of all Florence.

### Chapter 19

Gondokoro

The influx of water from small tributaries lifted the boats, floating them free of the Sudd, and a light wind barely moved the boats upstream. The Nile flowed wide and clear now, and Richarn often took the dahabiah's helm, leaving Sam free to join Florence on the upper deck. Early in the morning, families of elephants came to the water to drink, and when they raised their trunks to bathe themselves, egrets fluttered up from their backs, their white wings flashing in the light. Black cattle came, driven to the banks by men whose bodies were smeared gray with mud and ashes to keep away the mosquitoes.

Mud huts scattered in the barren fields, where huge ant hills pullulated. A pall of smoke hovered over the land, and women as thin as the men and as ashen, too, tended small fires.

"What a grim place to live! Why do they stay here?"

"They don't; they're nomads, I believe. Land here is soggy, not to be depended on for sustenance. Their only wealth is the cattle. They survive by milking the cows or trading them for other food. They eat their meat only when an animal dies."

"Everyone looks starved! How can cattle be too valuable to be fed to their children?"

"Cattle aren't merely property, they're sacred."

Florence shuddered, appalled by that idea. She had no wish to go ashore when Sam took Richarn and Saat to hunt small game. For Sam, these occasions were opportunities to observe native life so he could record details of clothes and dwellings and whatever else he could see of their customs. When he talked about things that fascinated him, she felt revolted and ashamed of her feeling. As he compared his notes on Dinka, Shilluk, and Nuer tribes, she tried to feel some of his enthusiasm. But she felt miserable for the people, especially the women and children, and was disturbed by her inability to feel a common bond with them. Sam was observing people objectively, people he considered innately inferior in many ways.

But it's their lives, not the people that are inferior, she told him. She suddenly realized why she avoided knowing more about them: being objective required a detachment that she could not attain in the face of suffering. Sam truly believed that they did not suffer as he or she would in their circumstances.

After the marshlands gave way to firmer ground, mimosa and thorn trees flourished, and groves of palm and fruit trees appeared. One day they saw broken remains of a landing and reed fencing around collapsed buildings. Grave markers had sunk into mounds amid rows of straggly citrus trees.

"How forlorn. Who lived here? And where are they?"

"It could be the ruins of a Christian mission. There was one built somewhere near Gondokoro."

"Really? How near are we?"

"I'm not sure, but if that peak there, to the southwest, is Mount Lardo, we have about twelve miles to go."

They stopped to take on fodder while sturdy natives gawked at their camels and donkeys. Oxen were the load-bearing animals in this latitude. In the next hour, they passed newly cultivated fields, and soon there were pole and straw houses surrounded by Euphorbia hedges. Within the compound of swept dirt, feathers on poles marked each family's graves.

Fields of coarse yellow grass and thorny bushes lay between the settlement and the landing and market, and beyond the market a traders' camp could be glimpsed. The dahabiah edged against the pilings of a battered, sagging wharf, and the crew lashed the three boats side by side. On the bank two sturdy warehouses bore Koorshid's name in fresh black paint, but not far away from them, piles of broken rudders, masts, tattered canvas, and tools surrounded ramshackle storage sheds.

Florence chose to go ashore with Sam, and they took Achmed and Osman along, leaving Saat and Richarn to manage a crew of men wild to go ashore. Climbing ten or twelve feet up a dusty bank, they confronted the nearly deserted market. Soiled canvas lay over the displays, and shop-keepers dozed or sipped tea beneath awnings or behind counters. The heat of the sun at the zenith bore down on the crowns of their canvas hats and lay heavy on their shoulders.

"If it weren't for the litter and the smell, one would think the place uninhabited," Florence said.

"It's high noon, time for rest. Only fools reared in cold climates go out in mid-day."

"Yes, I remember the shops in Cairo with their blinds down. None of us should be here." Florence glanced at Achmed and Osman. "You two know we all ought to be resting on the boat, don't you?"

At the end of the market place, they faced a sprawl of traders' tents pitched between animal pens and slaughter yard. In the shade of tarps stretched over poles, traders ate, drank, and argued. One or two looked up at the strangers.

"They've seen to it that whichever way the wind blows, their air will be foul," Sam said.

Florence held a handkerchief to her nose and mouth as they walked past a pile of bloody bones alive with maggots. Human skulls and scrota hung from poles at the edge of the camp to warn any rebellious blacks their lives meant no more than that of an animal. They exchanged pained glances but no words as they turned and made their way as directly as possible back to the landing. Florence now understood why Louis warned them against coming here. This settlement was a blot on a scrubby land.

"So we've had our first close view of Gondokoro. I'll arrange to use that open field near the warehouses as a parade ground. We need a place where we can give our animals some space as well as a place I can drill the guards and all the men can exercise. It's near enough to be useful when we assemble our caravan, too."

"You're splendid, Sam! You always make the best of the least promising situation. While I sniff around feeling disgust and revulsion, you are making plans."

"Conditions here revolt my senses, too, Florrie, but we won't be here long. We must keep in mind our plan, thinking out our next step."

Sam left Florence at their boat and walked upriver to Koorshid's and she went to the cabin to undress and lie on her bed. When Sam came back he said they would herd the animals ashore in the morning.

"But tonight I'll give the crew leave to go ashore on their own. You and I will stay aboard, and Achmed will serve a quiet meal before we talk about our next move."

"This time, leaving the dahabiah doesn't seem as perilous as it did when we faced the desert."

"You astonish me. We're starting into uncharted regions."

"It's odd, I know. Maybe the Sudd taught me that the river has nasty surprises, too."

"Nevertheless, you are brave, Florrie. Adaptable, too, and resilient. We're going to have a fine adventure."

She had come to enjoy Sam's praises rather than to protest as she did in the past. Yet she couldn't believe all he said of her. She often wondered just how adaptable she could be and how courageous in the face of danger.

* * *

Koorshid again agreed to store the equipment they wouldn't need, and because he had the trust of the Bari tribe, Sam asked his help in choosing guides and bearers from among them. Sam had no need to talk with other traders, but he had seen that they didn't get along with one another. They heard rifle fire from the camp, and Sam surmised that the men fought because they were bored or drunk, perhaps both. He posted a twenty-four watch on the boats and warned his men against mingling with them when they went ashore. He was relieved when most returned after a short time and reported they went nowhere near the traders' camp.

Florence didn't go ashore except to accompany Sam on a morning ride to exercise the horses or for an evening walk along the river. Once they paddled the pinnace downstream to explore the deserted mission on the east bank. They found no remnants of the kind of lives people had there other than the ruins they'd seen from the boat, but from a slight rise they had a good view of the thriving Bari village surrounded by thorn bush hedges.

Late one night Saat tapped on the frame of the open door to the main room to tell Sam of a theft. Some of the crew had taken goods to trade for _pombe_ , the local plantain beer, and now, he gathered, were drunk and planning to defect to an ivory train leaving the next morning. Florence watched as Sam's face flushed and thought she had not seen him look so fierce. He joined Saat in surveying their supplies and returned to say the losses had not been great.

"Nevertheless, dishonesty must be punished. Any intended infraction must have consequences. The men, all of them, must witness the punishment."

"But the thieves have not returned. What can you do?"

"They will come for their things. And I will make an example of them."

"Why not refuse to take them back?"

"That is not discipline."

Sam's look told Florence his mind was made up, and later, she knew he wasn't sleeping well. Before dawn he was out of bed and strapping on his gun belt. He left the cabin, and she lay still until she heard his steps on the gangway. She got up, with no idea what she could do other than that she must be with Sam.

She was climbing the bank when she heard Sam's bugle call, and within minutes crewmen were running past her. At the parade grounds, the men shuffled themselves into crooked rows. Two of them raised the Union Jack, and it fluttered above Sam as he paced back and forth near the pole's base. Florence leaned against a tree and watched the sleepy crew standing with their heads down, hands at their sides, and clothes disheveled from being thrown on in a hurry or perhaps not removed before they slept, yet all responded to the roll.

Florence tried to decide which were the culprits while Sam spoke to them of obligations, reminding them they had sworn an oath of loyalty. Then he commanded the mutineers to step forward. Only one did so; it was Ballaal, a muscular black who claimed no tribal ties. He was as tall as Sam and had a broad back and thick neck. He swaggered up to Sam, spit in the dirt, and turned to smirk at the crew, but Sam clamped a hand on his shoulder and commanded Ballaal's attention. Florence saw the man thrust his jaw forward and clench his hands, and she held her breath. She could not hear the words they exchanged.

Suddenly, Ballaal's arm slammed Sam's away, and he ducked out of reach, crouched and then hurtled forward, making a grab for Sam's holster. Sam struck him a chopping blow to the side of the neck. It stopped Ballaal for a moment before he regained his balance and again advanced on Sam. The men stood gaping in astonishment, but Florence could not stand still.

She rushed forward shouting so loudly that both crew and combatants stared at her. In her moment's advantage, she got close to Sam, pulled his pistol from his holster, and backed away a few steps, shouting for order. Ballaal froze, his eyes on the gun she was gripping with both hands.

"Come to order. Be silent!"

Her voice was shrill and, although nobody made a sound, she repeated her words. Her hands trembled while she decided whether a shot in the air would serve a purpose. Instead she swung the pistol toward Ballaal's feet, not certain what to do next, but sure she would not give up this power while this man menaced Sam.

"Stand where you are, Ballaal," Sam said and took a deep breath. "Your thievery and plotting have earned you forty lashes. You deserve another forty for trying to lay hands on me, but I shall withhold that sentence so long as you behave." Ballaal stood straight, head lowered, hands at his sides.

Sam called on Saat to fetch the _coorbatch_ , and while they waited, summoned the other mutineers to come forward and bind Ballaal's arms to a post. By the time Sam held the whip, the sun was up, and traders and villagers had gathered to watch. Sam ordered Richarn to beat the drum.

Florence turned and, as Sam raised the long hippo-hide whip for the first stroke, pushed her way through the crowd. When the count began she was running toward the landing and onto the gang plank. In their cabin, she caught her breath and laid the pistol carefully on Sam's clothes cupboard. Dropping to the edge of the bed, she took off her shoes and then began to tremble, and her tears fell as she stretched out on the bed. She wasn't crying for Ballaal but for Sam, for his anger and his turning to violence. Sheer exhaustion took over. She awoke when Sam laid his hand on her shoulder.

"It was necessary, Florence. Your interference was timely. It worked, and to say I appreciate it seems a trifle lame, for you may have saved my life. But you put yourself in great danger had your plan failed. Remember, we are among savages; the men's training is shallow and short-lived. Unless we are firm, they can be ferocious animals. The whip reinforces the word."

She reached her hand out to him, and he held it to his lips. "I'm sorry for this episode, my dearest, for the trouble and your distress. But I am grateful for your support."

"I cannot bear cruelty, Sam. It isn't necessary."

"We differ, my dear, and I must rely on my experience. But what did you have in mind when you took my pistol?"

"I don't know, but I thought Ballaal was going to get his hands on it. He might have killed you."

"Yes, possibly. Now, I think we should have breakfast."

Sam called Achmed, who came, carrying a pot of tea in trembling hands.

"I have not gone mad, Achmed. I feared for my husband."

Achmed smiled and bowed, "Oh yes, Madame, I know. Should I now serve breakfast?"

Ballaal followed orders but remained surly and caused unrest among the crew. His friends, after being confined to quarters for two days, went ashore with him and again they all got drunk. The rest of the crew heeded Sam's warning, avoiding the rebels and expressing their loyalty to Osman, Saat, and Richarn, all mission boys whom they knew would report it to Sam.

Sam wanted extra men familiar with the region and asked the Bari chief to find men he could trust as guides and interpreters. The chief agreed and swore his men would never defect or cause trouble. To seal the contract, Sam had bolts of cotton and bags of seed delivered to Bari families before he introduced the men to their duties and to daily drills with the crew.

Day after steamy day they prepared for departure, all the while hoping for Petherick to arrive with news of Speke and Grant. The heat and humidity persisted, and insects attacked animals in their pens and swarmed across the water at dusk to plague everyone on the boats. One of the horses sickened but survived after treatment by one of Koorshid's men, and a donkey, maimed by a stray bullet, had to be killed.

Other stray shots struck the trees and sometimes struck a boat. One evening as Florence waited for a servant to bring buckets of bath water to the cabin, the sound of a rifle shot pierced the air. Florence heard wood splinter and metal pails hit the deck. She threw on her robe and opened the door to find a servant sprawled on the steps, blood running down the side of his face and his shirt soaking up the spilled water. She screamed for Sam.

"Get inside," Sam's voice boomed, and she retreated to the cabin where she heard feet pounding on the deck. When it was again quiet, another of the Nubians brought more warm water for her bath. His hands trembled and his eyes looked stricken. She asked if the other boy was all right, and he nodded and hurried away.

Florence sat in the warm water but was not soothed or relaxed by it. She wept into her shaking hands until Sam came and assured her the boy's wounds were superficial.

"Head wounds bleed alarmingly, but he was only grazed. I know you're shaken, and so am I. I haven't yet thought of an effective action. We've doused the lights, in case the boats are actually a target, but I doubt that's the case."

"I'm relieved, but a little frightened."

"I know, I know. Here, let me have the sponge, I'll wash your back."

The undeserved enmity of traders and now the revolt of the crew worried her. But a fear she could not articulate lay beyond Gondokoro, an unimaginable darkness that would devour them.

### Chapter 20

Despite their isolating themselves from the filth and rabble of Gondokoro, every day a member of the crew became too ill to work. They suffered from various combinations of fever, chills, and dysentery. Sam, though easing up on working the crew, would not alter his own work schedule even if he felt less than well. Florence said his stubbornness would endanger his constitution, yet when she had similar symptoms, she behaved much the same way.

She declined even the usual purge and waited out the fever.

Without any pressing duties, she said, nothing kept her from spending all day in the hammock if she chose. She was certain no illness was a match for the misery she'd suffered from sunstroke.

I don't feel bad, she told herself, not bad, not that bad.

On a mid-February afternoon, free of pain yet still weak, she laid down her book and was just drowsing off when a volley of shots brought her to her feet. Sam stood on the embankment watching two ragged men approach. As they neared the wharf, she could see they were white men, dirty and sunburned, with knees sticking out of ragged pants and boot soles flapping. Wild red hair and a grizzled beard obscured the tall one's face, and the other was also gaunt and bearded and had lank brown hair. As Sam greeted them and led them across the gangway, she waited at the rail, automatically patting her hair and smoothing her gown with her palms, a ludicrous concern, she thought, for neatness.

She was partway down the stairs to the main deck when the red-haired one stared up at her with sunken blue eyes.

"I thought your wife was dead!"

Sam stepped forward and put his hand on the man's shoulder, but he spoke to Florence.

"Florence, the long lost explorers have arrived. This man is John Speke, and here is Richard Grant."

He didn't wait for her reply, which she was too astounded to make anyway. She watched Sam guide them down the companionway and heard him tell them, "My Cher Arnie has been rather ill."

Her face burned as she returned to the hammock and lay listening to the rumble of their voices below. After a short time, Sam called up to her that he would help the men make camp. When they had gone, she went down to the cabin and lay on the bed and was still there when Sam came to wake her for dinner. She murmured that she would rather sleep.

In the morning he brought her tea and sat on the edge of the bed, eager to tell her how Speke and Grant had found a huge lake and named it for the queen. Speke had named it Lake Victoria on his previous mission with Burton, and now he had affirmed his belief that it is the source of the Nile although Grant remained doubtful and refused to support the claim.

"This time, Speke says, they had found a river flowing from the lake, but had not been able to follow it. So it looks as if he's repeated his previous error."

"So he leaps to conclusions about everything."

"Exactly! You've certainly seen an example of that. His rude gaffe today caught me unaware, and my response was foolish and may have hurt your feelings. I hope you haven't taken it to heart. I told him I had indeed lost my first wife; that it was many years ago. Nevertheless, he did not appear upset by his blunder."

"I was upset."

"Of course. It was crude, and I see now that it must have caught you by surprise. I'm sorry to say we'll need to endure their company with as much kindness as we can muster, for it will give me a chance to see their maps and itinerary. They lost just about everything else, quinine and other supplies, struggling through rough country and hostile tribes."

"So now why are they stopping here?"

"They are weary, out of supplies, and expected to meet John Petherick and return to Khartoum with him. Speke is peeved not to find the Consul here waiting. He gives no thought to where Petherick may be and blames him for not keeping his word."

"Do you believe the Pethericks will get back here?"

"These two may easily have passed within a mile of their party. Certainly there's no reason for anger or blame, but it is certainly cause for concern. I hope all is well."

"So we, too, shall wait?"

"Yes. But on the bright side, Speke and Grant were grateful for clothes and food, and I hope what they have to share with me will be of use. We may avoid troubles and make connections that we might otherwise miss. I have some sympathy for Grant. I've always known Speke to be an odd one. He's the only man I ever heard refer to a man's underwear as 'unmentionables.' And he criticized Burton's morals, and yet he took up with a black woman he said was 'most aggressive'."

As if conjured by Sam's faith, Petherick and his train of ivory-bearing blacks straggled into Gondokoro the next day. The commotion brought Sam to the market to meet him along with his wife Kate and Dr. James Murie, a physician and anthropologist. The party went directly to the Consul's dahabiah, moored not far from their own and found it in good shape. Sam came back to his own boat and with Achmed's help filled several baskets with fresh food to have servants take to them.

The next morning a scrubbed and somewhat rested Petherick came to thank Sam and remained at their table telling Sam and Florence about his month of poor decisions and hostile ivory hunters who commandeered their food and medicines. Both he and Kate had been ill, but Murie had remained healthy and was able to keep their men in line.

Sam suggested they go together to see Speke and Grant and on the way warned him of Speke's anger. When Speke saw them coming he walked away only to sidle back later and sit near enough to hear them talk with Grant. Sam walked around and put a hand on Speke's shoulder. "Nothing to blame here, John, the Consul has been ill and lost, too. No reason for a grudge."

So Speke hesitantly put a hand out to Petherick, and Sam, in hopes of a genuine reconciliation, invited them to have dinner on his boat the next evening. Then Sam hurried back to make it all right with Florence, to tell her this would be his opportunity to introduce her, properly this time, and put them all on amicable terms.

"You're a gracious hostess. And you'll have a woman to talk with, which will surely please Kate Petherick, too."

"And exactly how do you plan to introduce me?"

"As Mrs. Baker, of course, as my wife and companion, as my dependable and courageous partner. Your other qualities will be quite evident."

"Oh, Sam, stop that! You needn't say more. Of course we'll have a dinner. It's the right thing to do."

"Thank you, my dear. And I know you like a party!"

Late that afternoon Sam said he needed to talk business with the Consul and, taking a packet of papers, walked up the river to Petherick's moorage.

"Welcome aboard, Samuel. Come up on the forward deck and tell me what's on your mind."

"It is personal, confidential. I'm not comfortable discussing it, but I must, before we leave this place."

"Discretion is my habit as well as a consular rule, as you know."

"I confess I've abandoned some rules in the last few years. Perhaps rumors have reached you, as they have others who have sometimes been less than gracious."

"Ach, man," Petherick lifted a bottle from beneath his chair and filled two glasses with whiskey. "I know that your bonnie companion is not your wife. Get on with it! Here!"

He handed Sam a drink.

"I have papers with me. I would like you to witness my signature and send the papers to my solicitor in London. I have put this off too long. Were I to die and Florence had to return alone, she would need funds to live on."

"Good. Best to prepare for the worst. Money may be cold comfort, but lack of it is unthinkable. Your papers will go in the pouch. But might I ask, even though 'tis none of my business, why you don't marry?"

"Sad to say, I have missed all opportunities for a proper ceremony. Actually, my excuses are many and are lame. I even hoped that the old mission we passed might not be entirely abandoned. A clergyman would suit my purpose, but I am too late."

"Not at all, not at all."

Sam sat forward and stared at Petherick.

"I represent the British government. To put it bluntly, I am Her majesty's government south of Cairo, and that means I have the right to perform a civil marriage."

"You are willing? But, of course, you are or you wouldn't have said. I know it will make a great difference to Florence."

"It's settled then. With your permission I'll share this with my Kate and our friend Murie, and they can witness. Come early to lunch tomorrow."

On their upper deck after dinner, Sam pulled his chair close to the hammock, swung Florence gently and hummed a tune.

"I'm not asleep. I've been counting stars."

"How many so far?"

"I assume from your satisfied smile that your business with Petherick went well. Anything I might know about?"

"Marriage, Florence. Will you marry me tomorrow?"

"Of course. Yes. Any time."

Sam had not taken his eyes from her, and she touched his cheek and then tugged his beard gently and teased him.

"What is it, dearest? You look so solemn. Are you worried I can't face all those English at our table?"

"I'm not at all worried, but I didn't pose the question out of idle curiosity. Pay attention to this: Sir John Petherick, Her majesty's Consul for Upper Egypt, pointed out that he is invested with the authority to perform a civil marriage. Either before or after lunch tomorrow, will you marry me?"

"Oh, Sam, Sam, Samuel Baker, yes, I will."

* * *

Early in the morning, Florence discussed the menu with Achmed and reminded him to use the linen table cloth. Then she bathed and washed her hair and shook out a pale blue linen gown she'd not worn since Alexandria. She hung it near a window while she patted powder on her face and neck, trying to blend suntan into pale skin that her dress's neckline would reveal.

They approached the Consul's boat and saw Petherick and James Murie waiting at the gangway. Both had clipped their hair and whiskers and put on the best clothes they could find. Kate's flowered lawn dress had been cut for her when her figure was fuller. Dark shadows of fatigue remained below her eyes, but she greeted them both with a warm smile.

In their quarters a record book lay open on a table beside a vase of wild flowers. The Consul conducted a brief but solemn ceremony, witnessed by his wife and Murie. Sam's hands trembled as he placed the ring he had chosen in Cairo on Florence's left hand. Afterward they sat under a canopy on the deck to eat lunch and become acquainted. Florence liked Kate Petherick more than she expected to, though she found it difficult to banish thoughts of Ferasha. She didn't think it likely that Kate knew Ferasha as anyone other than a servant and was certain Kate had not caused Ferasha's heartache.

Petherick admitted Speke's testiness irritated him, and he did not look forward to having the two explorers on board his dahabiah going downriver to Khartoum. Sam came to his rescue.

"I should think Grant and Speke might better go to Khartoum on my boats and their crew."

"But you owe me nothing, Sam. You needn't turn your boats over to them."

"Not at all, John, it would be a convenience for me. Spare me the cost and worry of leaving them in this nasty place."

When Sam, Petherick, and Murie took their discussion to John's study below, Kate spoke her mind.

"Well, now, I had not expected to meet another fool. Not every wife will follow her husband this far."

"Is it possible we are even stranger than these men? We have no need for fame or glory, yet here we are."

"You must want to be here."

"And so must you, Kate."

"Maybe, but I know it's my duty. I knew where we'd be going when I agreed to marry."

"But you could have stayed in Khartoum in that beautiful house."

"I could. But I wouldn't," Kate said and uttered a quick laugh that encouraged Florence to go further.

"Are you sorry, Kate? Do you ever regret following your husband to places like this?"

"I made my choice. I do not look back nor indulge in regret."

"But you do love him, don't you?"

"Do not talk so. A wife goes where her husband goes. John Petherick needs me, and I am here. Samuel Baker needs you, and that's why you're here. Men need their wives."

Kate was not smiling now, and her face looked closed against any more questions. Florence expected her to be complacent but not resigned. Perhaps she did know something about Ferasha or else she was of two minds about the role of patient wife.

"You've made the choice, my dear," Kate added, "I wish you joy in it."

That evening when John Speke and James Grant set foot aboard their dahabiah, Sam presented Florence as his "wife and partner" and led them to the top deck. Petherick and Murie were sipping sherry and continuing a conversation Sam had begun about slavers and ivory traders, and Grant immediately joined in. However, Speke remained silent, his sharp eyes darting from face to face as he tipped back glass after glass.

Kate and Florence listened, exchanging a glance now and again. When Achmed came up from the galley and stood near enough to catch Florence's eye, she stood and announced dinner.

A slight breeze abetted by ostrich plume fans in the hands of two servants kept the air moving at the dining table. Candles glowed in the wall sconces, and a tureen of plantain soup steamed on the sideboard as Sam seated Kate on his right and the Consul held Florence's chair at the foot of the table. He and Grant sat across the table from Speke, who kept his head down as if reading the pattern on his plate. John Petherick smiled at Florence, his clear blue eyes sparkling.

"You look as fine as any London hostess with a staff of servants."

"I have never been to London, Mr. Petherick, but I have a good Nubian cook and serving man."

"Both of whom she taught and trained," Sam added.

Throughout the meal, Speke remained taciturn and Grant spoke more than was his custom. When the men left the table to smoke on deck, Kate remarked that Speke was ill at ease. Florence said she thought he must be very tired.

"Exhausted, but then so is John. And so am I. Your dinner was good, but I must ask John to take me home."

"I wish you a good night's rest, in your familiar bed and cabin. I know I'll miss mine when we take to our tent."

Later Sam told Florence Speke had no inclination to be on good terms with Petherick, and he and Grant would most willingly take over Baker's boats and sailing crew.

"So the two men will go their way and Petherick his."

"You did what you could, Sam. I hope they won't try to move in here until we are fully moved out!"

"That will be soon. Koorshid's party is getting ready to leave here, and it's to our advantage to travel near them. We'll begin tomorrow, setting up camp on the parade and packing our cargo."

Florence enjoyed those last days on the boat that had been their home for three months. She packed the treasures and books that had to be left in the warehouse. Touching the spines of Sam's journals, she felt solid evidence of their accomplishments. Opening one, she admired Sam's neat, strong hand on the title page:

UNTRODDEN AFRICA

A Journal of the Expedition to Find the Sources of the Nile River

Volume I, 1862

Before me, untrodden Africa; against me, the obstacle that had defeated the world since its creation; on my side, a somewhat tough constitution, perfect independence, a long experience in savage life, and both time and means which I intend to devote to the object without limit.

Florence recalled how excited she'd been in Constanta as she listened to Sam tell of his dreams of Africa. Turning the pages and finding Johann's death, she recalled her grief. And then Ballaal's name caught her eye, and she leaned over the desk to read Sam's brief account of the mutiny, ending:

" _Such was the fellow's impertinence that I immediately ordered twenty-five lashes as an example to the others._ "

She smiled to see herself described as " _possessing a share of sangfroid admirably adapted for African travel._ "

She replaced the journal exactly as she had found it and gathered up the last of her own things, including Adrianna's letter though she no longer needed the comfort it had given her. With arms full of books, including her dictionaries, Florence left the dahabiah, reminding herself to look up sangfroid to see how those two French words had become a compliment in English.

### Chapter 21

Beyond Gondokoro

Florence had little to do but watch final preparations for the safari. The drivers were trimming hooves and examining the animals that appeared healthy despite attacks by small birds.

The brown birds' sharp red beaks left sores that often festered, and had blinded through infection the horse they had bought in Khartoum. Sam took men with shovels and led the small horse into the bush and while she was grooming Filfil, Florence heard the crack of the pistol.

"It was one last sorry act in this sorry place," Sam said when he returned.

The following day, he mustered all his men and spoke to them of loyalty and purpose and forbade their leaving camp. He hoped when Gondokoro's lure was behind them, his rebels would settle down, and meanwhile their departure occupied his thoughts. Koorshid warned him that Ibrahim, the leader of the next trading venture, was often surly. He didn't like having strangers about, but wouldn't be overtly hostile if Sam's caravan kept a moderate distance. The head porter was friendly as well as reliable, and would see that Sam's caravan would be alerted to any dangers.

The head porter, Adda, was not from the local tribe, and when he came to talk, Sam saw a tall, muscular youth who wore nothing other than a glass bead helmet. Reaching into a carton of gifts, pulled out a square of red cotton cloth and offered it to Adda to cover his loins. Adda folded it into a triangle and tied it around his waist, with knot in front and point behind. Straining his neck to look behind him, he turned to show Sam and Florence how it looked. Then he said what he came to say about the first chieftain they were likely to encounter and about his own tribe they would meet later. When he had gone, Sam commented on the conversation.

"Koorshid warned us about Ibrahim. Now Adda warns us that Chief Legge and the Ellyrians were not to be trusted. I wonder if someone will warn us about Adda."

"I shouldn't think that likely. It's obvious Adda has nothing to hide."

"I noticed you kept your eyes on his face, so you must have been judging his sincerity."

In late afternoon Sam went to the dahabiah to take leave of the crew and Grant and Speke. After that he boarded Pethericks' boat, where he found only Kate.

She said John and Dr. Murie would be sorry to miss his visit but would come to see them off the next day.

In the morning the steady beat of drums woke Florence, and by noon she and Sam saw dust rising from the traders' camp. It was one o'clock before the traders' column rode past, flying the Turkish ensign. Only Adda raised a hand in farewell, and Sam waved back and then went to see Richarn. Saat had a crew ready to complete the work of loading the animals, but when Sam walked among the men, he saw no Bari guides or interpreters. His own men told Sam that the drunken traders' lies and threats made the natives fear traveling with the strangers, and they had gone back to their village.

"They didn't even trust the promises of their own chief. We are just as well off without them. We'll make our own way around that mountain. We can follow Ibrahim's trail without overtaking him, and then Adda's Chief will provide us with excellent guides."

The seven camels were heavily loaded, each carrying as much as seven hundred pounds. The donkeys carried a rider now and then instead of their loads, and leather bags were slung on the horses' pommels. As the sun dropped low in the west, Petherick and Murie arrived to wish them well and to report that their own preparations for leaving Gondokoro were nearly complete.

As the caravan rode away from Gondokoro, the moon was rising in the eastern sky over Mount Belignan, and Sam and Florence, side by side on their Abyssinian horses, took notice of the date. It was on March 26, 1863, almost two years since they set sail on the Nile from Cairo. Behind them Osman rode on a donkey and held high the British flag, and Achmed sat proudly on the smallest horse, Mouse. After them came the line of camels, pairs of donkeys, and astride the last pair, Richarn and Saat kept their eyes sharp and rifles ready.

"A short first march, in the cool of evening – a good way to break in the men and animals."

"And through country so beautiful and clean it wipes away the smells and sights of Gondokoro."

The terrain was almost park-like with little underbrush and fine stands of evergreen trees at intervals along sandy stretches where now and then, from behind hedges, the sounds of voices and drums emanated. After three hours, they spotted the traders' campfires and were seen by sentries who called out warnings that they would not share their site. Sam made no reply but kept his train moving for another hour before he saw a place to stop, a good place, offering water and grasses, land where they could hobble the animals and find wood for fires.

"We need no shelters," Sam declared. "Nights like this, with clear weather and the sounds of drums, a bivouac is called for. I will take the first watch."

"And I'll enjoy falling asleep under the stars."

"I know you'll be safe," Sam said, as he laid a carpet for Florence to make their bed, "and I look forward to joining you."

"I feel secure, you know, safe yet not content without you. I'll count the stars. Was there ever a lovelier sky?"

Florence dismissed all concern for the desertion of the guides and the surliness of Ibrahim's sentries. Their own men were reliable, and Adda was friendly and guileless. And Sam's strength and ingenuity were boundless.

At sunrise, the crest of Mount Belignan floated above mists that would soon burn off. As Florence mounted Tetel and Sam stood by Filfil, they heard hoof-beats, and out of the bushes rode Ibrahim, his white keffiyeh catching the light and his black horse nearly invisible.

"Don't turn your back, Sam," Florence warned, "he'll be offended. This is his territory. Speak to him."

"It's no more his than ours. He knows we're Koorshid's friends, yet he behaves as if we're enemies."

"True, but don't be stubborn!"

Florence raised an arm and greeted Ibrahim in Arabic, but though only a few yards away, the trader gave no sign of hearing her. Sam lifted a hand in greeting as the trader dismounted and strode toward them. The men bowed to each other, Ibrahim with palms pressed, Sam with his hands flat at his sides.

"Good morning," Florence said again. Ibrahim ignored her and addressed Sam:

"You passed our sentries. Had you been following us?"

"We saw you ride out of Gondokoro ahead of us. We knew better than to expect your cooperation."

"I know nothing about any cooperation. This territory is mine, my established route. I want no interference."

The challenge angered Sam, but he held his temper and replied in an even tone.

"Our passage has been granted. I hold papers signed by the Pasha in Khartoum. Koorshid Aga suggested we keep our caravan near those of his traders. We do not intend to interfere with your business." As Sam spoke, his annoyance diminished, yet he knew his words sounded arrogant. "We are here without malice.

"We mean to cooperate with men of reason and do not compete with you, sir, nor any other traders." Sam paused, but Ibrahim said nothing. "However, should any harm come to us, should we be attacked, driven out, or unaccountably lost, forces of the British Empire will be swift to avenge any indignity or pain inflicted upon subjects of Her Majesty Queen Victoria."

As the rest of Ibrahim's caravan waited restlessly behind him, Ibrahim bowed to Sam and glanced at Florence with a nod that barely acknowledged her presence. Florence looked back without a flicker of expression.

"The Englishman has shown his friendship and asks for our protection," he announced to his men.

To demonstrate his cooperation, Sam reached for the rifle Florence always kept near, and he raised it in the air and told the traders they could claim any tusker it brought down. Sam and Ibrahim again bowed to each other and, as the traders rode off, Sam bowed to Florence and returned her rifle.

"Most diplomatic," she said.

"Of course this rifle will not bring down even a very small elephant."

They rode out half an hour behind the traders and by after noon were near the Tollogo foothills.

Having seen no trace of the traders, Sam suspected they had altered their route or holed up somewhere in order to lose them. When they saw smoke rise beyond a cluster of shrubs and trees, the caravan halted, and Sam and Florence cantered ahead until they met several natives on foot. The men showed no animosity but came close and responded to Sam's Arabic. One went to summon an elder who soon appeared and listened to Sam's offer of copper and beads in exchange for a guide. After much bargaining, he agreed to send two young men to take them to the pass in the Tollogo range.

The guides warned that they would not cross with them. They said it was not a hard journey but although the Tollogos were not high, the pass would be difficult. They gestured to indicate a steep rise through jagged rocks.

In less than two days the caravan came in sight of granite buttes, and at the base on a rocky path into a canyon, the guides asked for their pay and left them. The men made camp as Sam and Richarn investigated the rock-strewn rise. It was indeed steep, and Sam knew the camels could not carry their loads to the top. Their cloven hooves, which spread to find such sure footing in sand, would not do well on rubble and sharp rocks. It would be necessary to rig up a pulley system to lift the loads over the summit. By dusk, Sam and his crew had put together a winch and hoist system that the men were eager to operate, but he knew it would work and said they would start at dawn.

The camp had settled into silence when the crack and rustle of breaking sticks and brush woke Sam and Florence.

They heard their sentry shout and, as Sam lifted the tent flap, two tall men stepped into firelight, their naked bodies shining with sweat. They had answered the sentry, and Sam recognized them as Latookas who had been with Adda in Gondokoro. They had slipped away from Ibrahim's caravan the previous night after he had threatened to beat them. They planned to return to their Latooka people and offered to serve Sam's group as guides. Sam was gratified by this extraordinary stroke of luck, and he welcomed the men and promised them a reward.

In the early morning, Sam sent the five strongest men to the top of the cliff to rig the winch and hoists. Others loaded the cargo into net slings and climbed to places where the loads might stall on the way up. Meanwhile, drivers led the now unburdened camels over the pass, prodding them while staying out of range of their spit. The donkeys trudged up carrying light loads, and when all the cargo had reached the top, Sam, with Florence a few yards ahead of him, climbed up with the last of the men.

The descent was less arduous despite the loose gravel, and there were no injurious falls. Only three or four slings snagged in the thickets and were easily freed.

On comparatively level ground once again, Achmed and Osman located supplies quickly and served a substantial meal. The men felt proud of their work and the system they believed Sam had invented, and they sprawled on the coarse grass to enjoy the mid-day rest. Sam and Florence listened to the Latookas tell how Ibrahim boasted he could arouse all of Ellyria's natives against the Englishman's band. Their words reinforced Sam's determination to stay as far as possible from the traders, and when the meal was finished, he ordered the men to reload the camels and donkeys. A few groaned but everyone got up to pitch in, and the caravan soon made its way along the lower slopes.

The terrain was more hazardous than it first appeared, with coarse vegetation hiding rocks and ankle-turning holes. Rivulets had carved narrow trenches into which the animals stumbled, and thorny shrubs tore garments and ripped bags, spilling precious salt, rice, and coffee.

Riding at the head of the caravan, Sam and Florence strained to see hazards that lay ahead and to shout out warnings like "snake" or "thorns" or "hole," and the men relayed the words to those behind. When twilight made caution impossible, Sam called a halt and meted out sentry duty. The drivers unloaded and tethered the animals, then lay on their bedrolls, where Achmed and Osman passed out kisras and tea. They were all tired enough to sleep no matter where they lay yet were glad for a dry night. Only Sam, with a tinge of anxiety, noticed it was too black to see a thing beyond the fires.

* * *

At dawn when Florence awoke, she sat up, looked around and touched Sam's shoulder lightly, then urgently. It was obvious that they had come through the worst country in the dark, and when Sam sat up, he saw it too. Their camp lay on the edge of a plain covered with dark green vegetation sparkling with dew. Not far from them, five giraffes nibbled at the leaves of the acacia trees, their long tongues working agilely among the thorns.

Sam got up and woke a few men to help him free their animals to graze on the blanket of tender _jizu_. Florence pulled off her stockings and walked barefoot on the cool, damp earth. Following the sound of bubbling water, she came to clear water issuing from a fissure in the rocks only yards from where they had slept.

Achmed and Osman were quick to set up their kitchen under the umbrella trees, and the aroma of coffee and hot bread soon wafted across the camp. Sam conferred with the Latooka guides and then declared a holiday. The men laughed and talked, and collected stones for games. Donkeys rolled on the damp turf, and camels munched and belched and looked aloof. From their folding chairs under a tree, Florence and Sam looked on.

"Isn't it marvelous, Sam? We're fairy tale king and queen, viewing our subjects at play."

"The Latooka say it's called Ellyria, and I'm trying to think where Shakespeare uses that name."

Suddenly, the sky darkened and thunderheads rolled down from the mountains and within minutes a cloudburst sent them scurrying for the shelter of trees. The rain stopped as suddenly as it began and evaporated into freshened air, leaving a rainbow.

Florence warmed water and washed her hair and, as she bent over and combing it with her fingers, she thought of Widdin and rinsing Marie's hair in the washhouse. She realized she could feel pleasure at the same time she recalled the pain of loss.

The next morning, the caravan maintained a swift pace across the plain. Sam said Petherick had told him the camels wouldn't work in a moist climate, but he believed they were swifter than the sturdy and strong-minded donkeys that occasionally tried to control the pace of the march. Florence laughed as the animals stopped to nibble greens and refused to move until they had been coaxed, prodded, and finally bribed with sugar.

Cotton trees grew among granite outcroppings on the banks of a narrow stream. Jasmine meandered and climbed everywhere, and Florence picked the fragrant blossoms to tuck into bridles. Sam collected resinous bulbs and fragrant leaves from the Balm of Gilead trees to replenish the medicine chest. In the late afternoon, they spotted a village snuggled against stony hills a quarter of a mile to the east.

"It may be wise to stop to see what kind of welcome we can expect," Sam said. "I'll alert the men to keep their weapons near but not to touch them or make any move."

They were unloading the animals when twelve men in an orderly square formation trotted toward them with long spears. Florence stood behind her horse as Sam told her to do, and she trembled as the short, muscular warriors advanced. Squares of cloth hung like aprons from thongs at their waists, and feathers adorned their wrists and ankles. Tattoos embroidered their torsos, and blue mud turned their close-cropped hair into helmets. They stopped and faced Sam, holding their spears horizontally, and gripping them with both hands, a position that certainly didn't indicate hostility.

Sam stepped forward open-handed, arms away from his sides, and the men laid their spears on the ground. One spoke, and a Latooka explained that they wanted to cross the territory and were expected by the Latooka friends of Adda, who had sent his tribe word of a bearded man and his wife who would come as friends. The stranger replied that their chief required a toll for passage, and Sam responded, through the Latooka, that he brought gifts to exchange for the privilege to camp for a night.

The delegation bowed in unison, then picked up their spears and trotted back to their village.

Florence was no longer shaking after the men laid down their spears, and now she stepped away from her horse and the Fletcher rifle.

"I guess we're in luck again, Sam. We not only arrived before Ibrahim, but we were expected."

"Yes, expected to pay well."

"The good news is not that good?"

"It's just fine. Better unpack the gifts."

Florence thought Sam looked tense and wondered if he sensed trouble. However, she felt better when, as she bent to unpack a carton of gifts, he gave her backside a friendly squeeze.

"Would you like me better with feathers, Florrie?"

"Feathers, whiskers, not a big difference," She tweaked his beard. "But how do we entertain a chief? Do you think he'll bring his wives?"

"If he does, I hope there won't be too many."

"How much of this do you suppose he'll want?" Florence laid out a long strip of _merikani_ cloth and a dozen copper bracelets.

"All we show him, I'm sure, and then ask for more. Hold back some of the bracelets."

Their tent was up, the men busy with the animals, and Achmed cooking dinner when two men came, beating a pair of gongs to announce the arrival of Chief Legge. Legge was a squat, bandylegged man with thin arms and heavy paunch. Around his waist he wore a broad girdle which supported a garishly painted wooden phallus. Behind the chief stood five women wrapped in sheaths of bright cloth and wearing bones in their hair. Flanking them, several male attendants carried fans and stools, but no one sat down. The Chief stepped forward until the wooden phallus nudged Sam's belt buckle, and he waited.

Sam addressed him in Arabic and was understood.

Meanwhile the women surrounded Florence, stroking her hair, lifting the hems of her loose trousers, and fingering the buttons on her shirt. She held out a hand to the women and they touched palms.

Then as she picked up goods to give them, Chief Legge brushed past Sam, stomped into the tent, and shooed his wives away. He reached for a small oval mirror hanging from a pole; just what his wives wanted, Legge said. Sam protested that his own wife needed it, so Legge offered to take her, too. He was willing, he said, to leave one of his own wives in exchange. Sam could have his choice.

"My wife is not for trading."

Legge shook his head as if he did not understand, and Sam asked the Latooka to tell Legge his exact message.

"Tell him she is the only one I have, a gift the gods entrusted to my care. They will destroy anyone else who touches her."

While this was going on, Florence's mind flashed back to the auction where she had been for sale, ignorant and terrified of what might await her. She looked with sympathy at these women, bought, sold, traded, and certainly born to live without choices, and she scooped up bracelets and beads and heaped them in the women's hands. They happily put them on their arms and around their necks, and Legge accepted Sam's explanation and seemed satisfied to leave.

"You were generous enough," Sam said, "but he'll be back tomorrow."

"I have reason to be generous," Florence replied, "the gods have been good enough to award me to the right man."

"They've been good to me, as well, and should I fail you, surely the gods will destroy me."

In the morning Chief Legge was back.

Like a greedy monkey, he rooted in the hampers and bundles inside the tent while Sam looked on, arms akimbo and lips pursed. Suddenly Legge whooped and pointed to the treasure he must have: the curvaceous and delicately painted chamber pot.

Sam responded with a definite, hands-down refusal and turned again to the Latooka. Chief Legge glowered as the guide explained for Sam that the artifact was significant to Sam's tribe and was put to use every night in secret and essential rituals. Reluctant but credulous, Legge settled for the _merikani_ Sam had meant to give him the night before.

Florence waited until Legge was out of earshot before her laughter burst forth and she flung her arms around Sam.

They remained in the camp for another dry, sunny day. Legge did not reappear but sent men carrying food and jugs of the local beer, and when he sent two guides the Latookas said it meant they had been there long enough.

### Chapter 22

East of the gap in the Tollogo hills the short dry grass of the Latooka plain offered little game; two or three guinea hens that were a good day's shoot provided only enough stew for one meal. Men hungry for meat often had to make do with tinned sausage or jerked game at one evening meal and _kisras_ and sorghum during the day.

One morning Sam was greeted with news that six crewmen had deserted, taking three camels as well as provisions. There had been no sign of hunters or traders in the region, and he expected the deserters would return.

Two nights later, two straggled in on foot. They had found a party of ivory hunters who turned them away. When they had tried to steal some food, sentries shot at them and took the camels. These two said they feared the others were dead, and they threw themselves at Sam's feet, begging to be taken back.

"Whatever happened," Sam told them, "is the result of their own treachery. On your feet now. Act like men."

"Please, Sam, don't use the whip," Florence said and was relieved when he said that they may have learned their lesson.

A few days later, dust clouds billowed on the horizon, accompanied by shouts and drums and rumbling of hooves. Sam assumed it was a razzia, which could mean anything from a skirmish to an all-out war. To wait it out the caravan took cover in a thicket of umbrella and elder trees, where they bivouacked without lighting fires. It was an uneasy night, but at dawn the sky was clear and the savannah peaceful.

They resumed their trek across barren land and didn't see a settlement until the day's end, and then it seemed to be empty kraals and deserted huts. Going from one hut to the next, they found six aged women and four young ones cradling babies in their arms. They all cowered in the dim dwellings until they heard the guides speak in their own dialect.

At the center of the village, two men guarding the door of a large hut told the guides the villagers had gone off in pursuit of a band of cattle thieves and soon would return. Sam asked about Chief Comorro, saying he brought greetings from friends who had once been here. Hearing that, one of the guards went inside and returned shortly to say his chief would come to meet them the next day.

Sam and Florence realized Comorro was in the big hut, and they camped outside of the village and waited. On the following afternoon, a messenger came to take them to their chief. The men at his door stood aside, and inside was Chief Comorro, straight backed and white-haired. Around his thin body he wore a length of ochre cloth and over his shoulders a zebra skin was slung. He bowed to Florence and his face was sad as he told them his wives and children remained away, but he welcomed them and asked that they sit down.

The siege had inflicted great suffering on his people, and he believed further hostile events could be expected. He was grateful to hear Sam say he had released the Latooka guides so they could stay to help their own people. Sam asked if many Latookas had died in the raid and learned that seven men had been slain, a few injured. Remembering the Bari's family graves on small plots near their homes, Sam inquired about burial customs, how and where the Latooka honored their dead. He was amazed by Comorro's answer: wherever they died, they were buried, and their graves were unmarked.

The matter prompted further discussion of customs and of the afterlife. Sam said that in his own land, as well as in some lands very near Latooka, people believe not only in life after death, but in resurrection.

"Some go to great lengths to preserve the dead, out of respect for them and their belief the body is transformed."

"Existence after death! How can that be? How can a dead man get out of his grave, unless we dig him out?"

"Do you believe man is a beast, that death is the end?"

"Certainly death is the end for man or beast. But man is not like an ox. Man is weaker and not so clever. Oxen sleep anywhere and need not plant or sow or build a shelter."

"Yes, but a man thinks," Sam said, "adjusts the world around him to his own needs and comforts. He has a spirit within that is more than his flesh. He has dreams and makes plans, and even when he sleeps his mind goes where he is not."

Comorro laughed. "How do you account for that?"

"The mind knows we are more than our bodies and the inner spirit is independent of the body. The body will die and become dust or food for vultures, but the spirit does not die."

"And where does this spirit live?"

"Where does fire live? Can you not rub sticks together and make fire?" Sam knew they did this without understanding why or how it happened. "Yet you cannot see the fire in the stick until it appears and consumes the wood."

"Because it is not part of the stick," Comorro assured Sam. "Man summons it for his use and then it dies."

Sam's next argument was that a grain of corn, buried in the dirt, comes to life again. He also pointed out that the scarab comes from the dead bodies in the desert.

"Exactly so," Comorro countered, "but the grain in the earth rots like the dead man. It does not rise, but decays. Another plant rises, just as a child comes from what a man leaves behind. The new plant is not the grain that was buried. It replenishes the soil. That is its end. As for the scarabs, they have come from enjoying a good meal."

* * *

Sam enjoyed a good argument for revealing a way of thinking and was accustomed to his view proving the better one. As she listened, Florence thought that in his argument Sam revealed his analogies as contrived, and Comorro's views were more sensible. What she was learning about Sam amazed her.

"This wild and naked savage," Sam said to Florence later, "has no faith at all! Not even a superstition on which he might develop religious feeling. He is totally pragmatic, believing in only what is material – in matter only and has no awareness of spirit."

"But, Sam, are you suggesting religion is founded on superstition?"

"I am saying he has acute perceptions but no ideals." Florence made no reply, and Sam dropped the subject.

* * *

Following the Latookas' directions, Sam led the caravan southwest toward the gap in the Maadi range. The ground was firm and travel swift. On the third day they forded a tributary of the Kanieta River and followed a trail into rocky foothills where it wound among trees and granite boulders. Above they saw the bare, gray summit that divided the Latooka from the Obbo, and above it, the afternoon storm clouds gathered. Before they finished setting up camp, rain began to fall and increased throughout the night.

The morning broke with a clear sky and pleasant breezes.

They got an early start, but slick boulders and loose gravel made the trail slippery and hazardous for the animals, so no one rode.

Florence gathered wildflowers from under the trees, and they all rested when they reached a plateau. Achmed brought out dried dates and hard bread and served hot tea. In late afternoon they reached the crest and looked out upon Obbo country, a land that had been described to them as an Eden.

Twenty-five hundred feet below them, green fields and hills stretched south and east toward ranges of high mountains. It took little more than an hour to descend to the foothills and then the valley, where primroses sprang up in the soft green grass and the trees bore fruits and nuts. Purple and gold agapanthus and delicate blue plumbagos grew four feet tall.

Yam and grape vines climbed tree trunks and festooned their boughs.

In all this abundance, the men were quick to discover the green grapes were sour, but the fragrant yellow plums were ready to eat. They all picked as much fruit as they could carry as they marched on and the sky darkened again and threatened rain. They quickened their pace, heading toward a cluster of huts in the distance as rain drops splattered on their shoulders. Then it stopped, and they went on another half hour before reaching a village of thatch and wattle huts. As they drew near, from the fields came a dozen men, smooth-skinned and naked but for thongs tied around their waists and wrists.

Their neatly braided hair lay flat in a shape like a beaver's tail, and they laughed as they spoke greetings, then as large drops of rain again fell, urged Sam and Florence toward the shelter of cattle sheds.

They all crowded under the thatch and soon saw their hosts turning to face a man who strode toward them, smiling as the rain wet his face and glistened on an antelope robe he wore across his shoulders. He, too, wore an apron, and his skin was smooth and unscarred.

His curly gray hair was unconfined, and raindrops glistened in it as it radiated from his head. As he passed, dignified and commanding, he laid a hand on men's shoulders and met their eyes with a steady gaze. Then he broke into a broad grin and bounded forward to grab both of Sam's hands.

"Katchiba, Chief of all the Obbos, welcomes you," he sang out. Turning, he clapped his hands and spoke rapidly to his people, who hurried away to do his bidding. Only two attendants and a piper remained, and to this tune, Chief Katchiba led Sam and Florence through the village to an open door to a large round hut. There, a man took the hide from the chief's shoulders and replaced it with a lion skin, complete with maned head.

Inside the torch-lit hut, three men sat cross-legged on the ground beating on drumheads made from elephant ears. Katchiba seated himself on a fur-covered bench, and Sam and Florence sat on leather stools. When every man who could had crowded into the hut, a youth stepped to Katchiba's side and bowed to Sam and Florence.

"Rahan, my son," Katchiba said in Arabic, "eldest of my children, first son of my best wife."

Rahan said his father could command the rains to fall and could heal the sick, and that he was a generous ruler, a man of peace. Then he asked their reasons for coming to his father's land.

"We hope to pass through your lands toward a lake that feeds the great white river. If this lake is known to the Obbos, will Chief Katchiba help us find it?"

"We know the place," the chief said. "If you stay among us, we will treat you well and then help you on your journey."

"Have you seen the lake?"

"Yes, we have seen many lakes."

"We also need to cure fevers that sometimes afflict our men," Florence said. "Our medicine is not enough."

"We will send our magicians with cures," Katchiba said and turned his broad smile on Florence. "You are you best wife of this man with a fur chin? How many children?"

"Oh, yes, the best of wives," Sam told him quickly.

"She will give you sons!"

Katchiba raised his hands, clapping loudly three times, and two boys brought jugs of beer. As they passed out filled cups, Katchiba said the women were now bringing food. After the meal, his men would take them to their dwellings.

Outside, straw mats had been spread over the wet ground and on them pots of steaming food waited. While dark clouds piled up and threatened more rain, Florence and Sam sat on the mats and ate savory vegetables from clay bowls, and the men encircled them on the ground with their bowls. The women in an outer circle stood watching. They wore only aprons and necklaces and held their naked children by their hands and the babies on their hips, and Katchiba walked among them, patting the children's heads.

"He's a magnificent politician," Sam said.

"And a loving father," Florence added. "I wonder how many belong to him."

Outside of a hut at the edge of the settlement, the men helped their drovers remove the animals' burdens and give them food. Achmed and Saat were setting up their kitchen to serve their men, and inside the hut, women spread woven covers on a straw bed that was surrounded by their luggage.

As darkness fell and rain spattered on the grass roof, Florence said, "The chief is letting the rain fall now that we're inside. Do you suppose he can also stop it?"

"I think the chief is showing off. I hope his word is good and his hospitality doesn't carry too high a price."

In the morning the sun shone and steam rose from the sun warmed earth. At their doorway, Florence found a basket of fresh fruit and saw Achmed approaching with a pot of coffee. He said the Obbos had brought a big sack of coffee beans that he'd begun roasting and a vessel full of flour already finely ground. He had bread baking, which he would serve them on a bench under an umbrella tree.

While Sam talked with Rahan about possible routes, Florence took care of housekeeping, sorting through their belongings so Osman and Saat could do laundry. Later when the sun had dried the clothes, she'd do some mending, but for a while she could sit and read one of the books she had unpacked. She had just begun reading from a book by a man named Hazlitt when a shadow fell across her page. She looked up into the round, shiny faces of three little girls and beyond them, a woman carrying a covered basket. With a wide smile, she knelt on the ground in a graceful movement, laid out the cloth, and emptied her basket.

Florence watched her place rows of leaves and bark on the cloth, then four small clay pots, and a bowl with a wooden pestle. She beamed with satisfaction when she saw that she had Florence's rapt attention. Then she pantomimed pains in her head and stomach, passed a hand over a fevered brow and shook with chills.

Florence understood, nodded and said, "Yes, yes, aywah."

The woman nodded, too, and selected an herb to show how to prepare and apply it. Florence held up a hand to stop while she hurried inside to her satchel and returned with notebook and pencil. They exchanged a few words of Arabic along with many gestures.

Florence took notes while the woman mixed leaves and bark, pulverizing them with a smooth stone, even chewing some tough pieces to make a paste. She attached a colored straw to each pot and then added drawings of a water jug or a fire, and made their meanings clear by her gestures. Then she pantomimed ailments for which they should be used. When the woman was finished, Florence attached her own notes to each and then went inside and brought out red rubber balls for the girls and a length of merikani and a bracelet for the woman.

When Sam returned, Florence told him then about her visitors and their generosity.

"This is the only tribe so far whose main characteristic is not avarice," Sam said and added that he was also pleased by his talk with Katchiba and the guides.

"Two men claimed to have been to the lake. Others spoke about rivers and terrain. I didn't learn much about how much, when, or for how long we might expect rain. But two guides and a few hunters and bearers will go out with me. If nothing else, I may get in some good shooting."

He went then to talk to Richarn and came back with the bad news that several men were ill. He took along the last of the paregoric for the men, and he also found Mouse, their small roan, rolling on the ground with colic.

The next morning, he was discouraged to learn the paregoric had not done much for the men and Mouse was even sicker. In fact, Sam, himself, didn't feel in the best of health and chose to put off the scouting trip a day or so.

When Sam was still miserable with cramps and fever in the morning, Florence went to Chief Katchiba to ask the help of the woman who had brought herbs. He sent the woman and a medicine man, who administered bitter draughts to Sam and filled the hut with fumes and smoke. Later the medicine man brought helpers, who stood outside the tent drumming and chanting.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I know this is superstition, but it does no harm. I cannot send them away."

"I don't mind, Florence. Just stay away from this illness, leave me battle this demon, with or without the music."

While Sam lay sick in bed, Florence spent time with Achmed and Osman, reviewing lessons in cleaning kitchen equipment and preventing food spoilage and contamination. She had read about lessons Florence Nightingale learned in the Crimean War, and now she saw to it that Achmed diligently went through their store of food, sniffing for spoilage and washing the outsides of sealed tins of milk and biscuits.

As soon as Sam was well enough to be up, he went to see if the crew was also back in health and returned with good news: there were no more new cases. However, the bad news was that Mouse had died, and it distressed Sam that he had not been there to put her out of her misery.

When word of Sam's improving health reached Katchiba, the chief came to visit and brought a bag of tobacco. After one pipeful, Sam claimed its effect was amazingly pleasant and credited their method of curing it or some quality in the soil. Later he examined the tobacco and detecting an aromatic additive hoped he would find out more about it.

Florence was relieved to see him well and secretly pleased with her own strength and health. She felt this respite had been good for her. She enjoyed the domestic interlude, working with Achmed and learning how to prepare the vegetables that grew here in abundance. It also pleased her to observe Sam "at home," busy and content with various occupations. One of his projects was augmenting their dwindling supply of French prophylactics with sheaths he fashioned from animal entrails. His strong, calloused hands cut the delicate membranes and sewed them with fine silk thread.

The Obbo men who had butchered fawns or kids were willing to save the entrails for him, but they wanted to know what use there was for the peculiar things he made. Florence said she wanted to know what he told them.

"I said I made protective cases for instruments."

"Are you worrying yours will rust?"

"Frequent use and reasonable care are sufficient."

"You _are_ conscientious."

"I want to make these perfectly smooth, for your sake." She knew he, too, would rather not use them at all.

On the scouting trip with Richarn and two Obbo guides, Sam aimed to locate the Assua River and, if possible, determine when they might cross it. He took bearers, too, and promised Katchiba he'd try to bring back some elephant tusks for him. The chief promised Sam that three strong men would watch over Florence. In only ten days, Sam returned with an elephant hide and two medium sized tusks for the chief, as well as a rhino's hide and horn, which so delighted Katchiba he danced and sang. Scouts had given Florence the news of Sam's nearing the village and she prepared a pumpkin shell filled with a gallon of native beer.

"After a thirty-mile trek in the sun, this drink is as refreshing as a draught of Allsopp's."

When Florence told him how well-attended she had been in his absence, Katchiba overheard her and added that she had been guarded by the best, his own sons.

"My sons. Strong and handsome just like me."

"I acquired a sense of the territory," Sam told Florence when they were alone, "but the trip wasn't a great success."

"When you rode in, I thought I saw Filfil favoring a foot."

"That was a piece of bad business. She twisted a leg while we were tracking the elephant. I think she'll be all right. But we never did reach the Assua – only a river they call the Attiba. I don't know if they are parallel."

"They said they could take you to the Assua."

"I called a halt so we could get Filfil back here and tend her leg. We need to get on with our journey."

Katchiba provided a farewell feast of lambs roasted in a pit and, in gratitude to Sam for the tusks and rhino horn, offered a gift of two pairs of goats and eight oxen, which were sturdy beasts and less prone to disease than other animals. Sam left the remaining camels for Katchiba, who was fascinated by the strange beasts.

When they rode out, accompanying them were two Obbo guides and twenty drivers and bearers as well as the donkeys and oxen carrying heavy loads. Filfil was strong again and ready to carry Florence. Sam rode Tetel and Achmed and Osman rode on donkeys and kept track of the goats, and bringing up the rear, Richarn and Saat sat astride donkeys and kept their arms ready to fire warning shots and scare off predators.

They were well prepared for the final leg of their search for the source of the Nile.

### Chapter 23

They grew accustomed to the company of elegant zebras that shared the savannah with shaggy wildebeests in harmony, and the herds seemed to accept their presence, as well. Now and again, evidently sensing a threat, the animals nudged their young into the herd's midst and set off at a trot. Sam and Florence had yet to see a straggler and hoped never to see one brought down by a stealthy predator.

At night, sentries maintained blazing fires, and Sam slept with a firearm within reach, as did Richarn and Saat. Florence kept her Fletcher under her cot and trusted Sam's vigilance. They heard snarls and snorts of prowling beasts at night, and in the morning might see a hyena gnawing the lions' leftovers or a few vultures circling in the sky waiting for their turn to pick the carrion. Once Sam halted the caravan near a patch of trampled grass so they could watch three lions devour the carcass of an antelope.

They kept their weapons ready but were not afraid.

Florence always felt confident of Sam's ability to protect her. Responsibility for his caravan was second nature to Sam, and though he enjoyed few things more than a hunt, he now hunted only for food, taking care not to put the caravan at risk.

"Most of the animals are so beautiful that I can't think of them or ourselves as prey," said Florence as two cheetahs streaked across the plain.

"It's tempting to dismiss danger while we admire their beauty, but power is part of it. A cheetah is probably a greater danger than a rhino since he lacks their speed. But an animal with a beautiful coat is as dangerous as a rhino or a warthog. They all depend on instinct, and our instincts and intelligence should remind us that we cannot lie down with lions. This is not a peaceable kingdom."

"Nevertheless, Africa seems like an Eden."

"A fine thought, but keep your rifle ready."

* * *

As they rode across the golden plains, Sam was aware that he often felt a deep contentment. Umbrella trees cast lacy shadows and distant hills floated in a blue-gray mist; these were scenes he'd dreamed of seeing. And beside him was a companion he had not imagined he'd ever have. Often they rode silently for hours, their eyes meeting when a bird of particularly brilliant plumage took flight or an impala stood on hind legs to feed on a tree's top leaves. Even a complaint or a quarrel among the bearers scarcely altered his mood.

It was taking twice as long to reach Attiba as he had anticipated, and once there, he found the waters higher, too. He rode along the bank to find a shallow place they could ford, and then as they made the crossing Filfil's foot caught in a hole.

Sam heard her leg snap and felt for the break while the horse thrashed about, sinking deeper into mud and water. Sam struggled to remove her saddle and then took her halter in a desperate hope she could reach the shore. But she fell sideways, drowning even as he managed to put his pistol to her head. There was no use in trying to haul the carcass from the water, and reluctantly, they reassembled the caravan and went on. Sam wanted Florence to ride Tetel, but she would not.

"He's grieving over Filfil, too, Sam, and suffering from fly bites. I won't make him carry me!"

They all walked until the afternoon was nearly gone. When they made camp, Sam and Richarn treated infections Tetel and the donkeys had developed. The other animals stood still and patiently allowed men to clean their wounds and apply poultices. All of his life, Sam had cared for dogs and horses, and he felt few things more pitiable than an animal in pain.

"They don't understand pain and suffering," he said later as he and Florence lay in the dark.

"Nor do they anticipate death," she whispered, "but they do understand when you try to help them."

Sam was grateful for the hardiness of the oxen and took advantage of it by having the men redistribute the cargo, giving the donkeys a respite. At Sam's insistence, Florence rode an ox now, but when straddling its wide back grew uncomfortable, she'd slide off and walk for a mile or so. After trekking eighteen hours a day across the dry plains, they were rewarded by the sight of a river gorge.

As they stood on a ridge, looking down on a crystal stream in a sandy basin, Sam said he believed it to be the Assua. He had barely spoken when their Obbo guides laid down their burdens. They faced Sam and bowed with hands crossed on their breasts, then without a word, took off running for home. Florence looked on, disappointed and angry.

"So much for the good chief's promises."

"He promised only that they'd take us to the Assua. So, this must be it. Its course is northeast, which must take it to the White Nile. We will find the Shooas and other guides – and we will reach the lake. But now we'll rest."

Sam located a depression where floodwaters remained, and the drivers took the animals there before setting up camp on high ground. Then with Richarn and two bearers, Sam went hunting for a good meal, and before long they cornered an antelope alone in a thicket. Sam handed his rifle to a bearer and, making his way downwind of the animal, crept close, pounced, and slit its throat with his knife. The men gutted it there and carried the hide and meat back to camp where Achmed and Osman cooked up a feast.

Hoping Florence wouldn't see him in his bloody clothes, Sam slipped away to the river. He yanked off his boots and waded in, letting the water wash away the blood. He pulled off his clothes and was weighing them down with rocks in shallow water when he looked up and saw Florence watching from the bank. Before he waved to her, he glanced around to see if the water still ran red with blood, and he heard her laugh. She'd not been fooled, and he shouted to her.

"But still, we've fired no shots in this wilderness."

"The food will be very welcome to us all," she replied. I will get you some dry clothes and come down there."

Fresh from bathing, Sam and Florence lay on the rug in front of their tent and watched the sun turn the clouds purple and pink and the sky fade to pale green. Lowering their eyes, they saw five young natives near the smoking campfires. Achmed must have seen them approach and was welcoming them with warm bread; he was talking to them as he basted the antelope carcass on the spit.

Sam was pleased and invited them to share their meal.

The next morning Sam and Florence waited for their return, bur instead, saw a dozen women walked single-file down the path the men had taken back. They carried baskets of flour, butter, sesame paste, honey, and a few toted jugs. They all were smiling but said nothing as they laid all of the provisions near the cook tent and were gone before Florence could offer the usual gifts.

"There is an unsaid message here," Sam said. "They'll come back when they're ready. We'll wait."

Night fell quickly that evening as the sky and clouds turned gray, then black. Looking at the plain they'd crossed, they saw clouds churning as if driven by great force.

"Sam! It's going to be a fierce storm. The clouds are black as dirt!"

"That's smoke. The whole plain is on fire."

Soon the copses blazed; large trees exploded in fiery bursts; flames crawled through high grass driving ahead of it wildebeests, zebras, gazelles. Smaller animals like bush pigs and foxes scurried through their camp. Flocks of birds passed overhead, their shrill cries and the beating wings sounding like panic. Close to where Florence and Sam stood, two elands swam across the river and scrambled up the sandy banks.

Florence asked if the fire could jump the river, and Sam cast a quick glance around at the tent, shrubs, and piles of dry cargo. He shouted for Richarn and Saat. Achmed and Osman were coming back from bathing in the river after their kitchen work, and they scurried up the bank to join the rest of the crew who were pointing and jabbering in alarm. Florence clutched Sam's arm.

"Can it jump the river?" she asked again.

"If the wind comes up, anything can happen. Stay by the tent. Watch out for creatures you don't want to sleep with."

He bellowed for Saat to get the buckets and organize a line, and for an hour they worked to drench the canvas and dry grass with river water. The wind had gone down, and the fire was soon burning itself out.

Smoke and ashes smeared the sky, and slender tongues of flame flickered here and there in the bush. Sam set up a sentry rotation, twice the usual number, to patrol the camp all night and to keep the tents wet.

"Terrifying," Florence said as they lay on their cots. "We wouldn't escape as easily as the wild animals. Did you see how frightened the men were? As if they'd seen such fires before."

In the night Sam woke Florence gently. She was drenched with sweat, and he said she had been crying out.

"The fires, again, Sam, the same old dreams. Blazing curtains, shots, screams."

"Of course, the fright would arouse them. I'll get you fresh water."

"You look sweaty, too, Sam. Are you all right?"

"A little tense, I think. I wasn't sleeping soundly." He took the glass when she finished and drank the rest of the water. "Thirsty, too."

* * *

In the morning when Florence lifted the tent flap, the acrid odor of charred grassland hung in the air. Sam still slept, but she saw Achmed and Osman making breakfast. She carried two cups of tea back into the tent to find Sam had not stirred, and she tiptoed out. She wanted to make sure no one would disturb him. She realized he must have been more worried and exhausted than he had let on.

"We are going to stay here today," she told Richarn, "so set the men to any use you see. Or, lacking that, tell them to enjoy a rest."

The men were glad of the unexpected respite, and so was she, and she took her book and sat under a tree. No Shooa appeared, and it was late in the morning before Sam came out of the tent.

"So sorry. I am not well – a good way off the mark, in fact."

"I'm sorry to hear it, but we all are glad for the rest. Would you like food now? Or is there something else I can do?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

He went back into the tent. Florence noticed that he again fell into a deep sleep, and in late afternoon, he awoke and could barely move. She rubbed him with the alcohol to bring his temperature down and brought him cool water first, then hot herb tea that she spooned between his cracked lips. She sat near his cot putting wet cloths on his forehead as he drifted off, mumbling and lifting his eyelids but not seeing anything. Achmed had to coax her to leave Sam's side and take her evening meal.

"The master does not see you. Let me sit with him."

"I'm all right, thank you. I haven't seen Osman?"

"Osman has fever, too. I tell him, sleep."

"Oh, poor lad. He must have some medicine." She went to the chest and measured out calomel and herbs, then looked into Achmed's face. "And you, Achmed, are you well, truly?"

As she studied Achmed's face, his eyes moistened and he assured her he was well. Later he laid a light meal on the table in front of the tent and reminded her she must eat and rest. She knew it was Achmed's doing when Richarn and Saat came to tell her they would see to the camp and do whatever she might wish.

In the night, she lay awake listening to Sam's labored breathing. Worry stirred her memory, bringing vivid scenes of her mother lying on the cold rocks, and Florence thought again of her last words, "the morning comes." And it had come and brought only death. Sam had said sickness is part of life, to be endured, not feared, but she feared it. And feared now for Sam. And she feared for herself. What if Sam died?

In the thick air, her thoughts dodged about, futile and painful. She arose and crept out into the cool night to draw the fresh air deep into her lungs.

I would have to go on, she told herself. I would have to find the lake, complete our journey. This is my mission as well as Sam's. Or is it?

She sighed and dropped to the carpet and looked at the stars, recalling how she had come here, filled with need and gratitude and the love that made her want to be with Sam wherever he went. She had learned to savor adventure, too, and had never regretted her choice. But without Sam, what would be a wise choice? She could turn back; retrace the route to Gondokoro and Khartoum and Cairo. She could survive, get back to Europe and perhaps live the rest of her life regretting that she hadn't completed their mission.

She shivered, feeling suddenly desolate to be thinking about her choices, as if Sam were dead. She stood, breathed deeply, and abandoned her morbid speculations. Back in the tent, Sam's breathing sounded more regular, and she lay on her cot and slept.

She was awake at dawn when Achmed brought her tea, and his face was wet with tears. Osman had died in the night. She tried to keep back her tears and to comfort Achmed by reminding him how happy Osman had been in his company, happier than he'd ever been, ever before in his whole life.

"Remember him that way, Achmed. Remember his laughter."

She decided not to tell Sam now but to let him rest. She went with Achmed to get Richarn and Saat and ask them to find a place to dig a deep grave. Then she helped Achmed wash Osman and wrap him in his patchwork quilt, the only remnant of his home life other than his scars. And when everything was ready she went to tell Sam.

Since Osman was a Christian, Florence read from the ninety fifth Psalm: "God is our refuge and strength, a very help in present trouble."

Then Achmed held his palms open before him to recite: "Truly the God-fearing shall dwell amid shades and fountains, and such fruits as they desire." And then he hid his face in his hands. The others swiped their hands across their eyes and picked up their shovels to cover Osman's body with dirt. Then they rolled the largest rocks they could find over the grave to discourage scavengers. Florence didn't believe the body was of any consequence after the spirit died, but she didn't say anything, would not disturb whatever beliefs the men might hold.

She returned to the tent, taking a pot of tea, and found Sam sleeping soundly. As she sat on her cot and drank a cup of the hot tea, she wanted to take his shotgun to hunt grouse. If he had heard the lions last night, she knew he'd warn her not to leave camp; nevertheless, she decided to go and to take Saat along, carrying a rifle only to protect her. He walked into a copse where he was able to flush several birds, and she brought down two on her first shot. He picked them up and said that would be enough for Achmed to make soup.

When she came back to the tent, Sam awoke and asked for a basin of water. She found him a fresh night shirt and pillow slip, and when he'd washed, he settled back on the cot saying he felt better and wanted to hear about Osman's grave.

"So young," Sam said. "It's not yet a year since he left Khartoum."

Later Achmed brought the steaming broth and fresh bread, and Sam said he felt hungry.

"It smells good. Are you going to tell me what it's made from?"

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry, Sam. It was made from fresh Grouse."

"You needn't apologize, Florrie. I guessed as much. I'm grateful. It's just what I need. But Achmed looks peaked."

"It's grief, I think. He had grown very fond of Osman and will miss his help, too."

For a week they remained in the camp while Sam regained his strength. Every few days Shooa women brought baskets of squash or beans or sometimes cooked food. It was a boon to Achmed, who now had no one to help him, and it kept everyone hopeful that guides would arrive soon.

"If they don't come, we'll leave anyway," Sam said, "before the end of the month.

"We'll leave without a guide?"

"We have our maps. Conditions are reasonable. Maybe we'll find a guide along the way. We can't just stay here."

"At least we know we're in friendly territory. And now you must rest."

Florence didn't want Sam to know that ever since he'd been ill, crewmen had been coming down with fevers.

And she worried that another rainy season might be starting. The pattern seemed to be developing, showers every two or three days, and always enough to wet them thoroughly if they were on the trail. She tried not to draw Sam's attention to her concern for his health, since only she still considered it an issue.

* * *

In the next week, Sam felt he needed to get to work, regain his strength, and organize the caravan. He went out to find Richarn and plan for loading the animals.

But crossing the camp to the animals, he was appalled to discover how feeble they appeared, and then he learned that several men were sick with fever. Sam realized that Florence may have been purposely vague in their discussions. Now thinking that she had deliberately concealed the conditions of men and animals, he strode back to where she was taking down laundry that had dried on a clothes line.

"In God's name, Florence, what were you thinking?"

"Sam! What's wrong? What are you accusing me of?"

"Why did you keep things from me? Do you consider me too feeble to face the truth? You've treated me like a child and to what end?"

"I can't believe this. We'll talk when you calm down."

She turned her back on him and took the armload of clothes into the tent.

"Don't walk away when I'm talking to you."

"You mean when you're yelling at me?"

"I'm sorry I raised my voice. But I want to know why you didn't tell me the men and animals were ill."

"I should think the answer obvious. You'd have been upset as you are now. I did it to aid your recovery. Bad news can always wait."

"I don't agree. I should have been told."

"No."

"No? Just like that, you're right, and I'm wrong?"

"Yes, Sam, you don't seem to know how ill you were."

Sam walked away to cool his anger, to end the quarrel. As he crossed the grounds, Richarn came to ask if Sam was looking for him. Sam said no, but Richarn walked beside him. After a few minutes Sam asked his opinion about the donkeys.

"Two are well and strong, but the others won't go far."

"They are really not at home here, are they?" Sam patted Richarn's arm and went back to the tent.

"Florrie? Will you hear me now?"

She stopped folding clothes and faced him, pain in her eyes, her lips a thin line. He took a step toward her, but she stood motionless, unyielding.

"I've come to apologize. I had no right to speak to you so harshly. I suppose it angered me that you were right. I was wrong and cruel, and I'm sorry," he said, and his relief in admitting that turned to remorse at the sight of her tears. "Oh, Florrie, I love you! Let me hold you."

She came into his outstretched arms.

### Chapter 24

Sam pored over the maps, facing the possibility no guides or bearers would come to help them, and he set Richarn and Saat to reorganizing the baggage. He and Florence walked to the village with gifts for the women who had brought them food, and Sam spoke with the elders and asked for guides who knew the way to the lake. Within an hour, a young man came to Sam and introduced himself as Nondo. He spoke well and claimed knowledge of the region's rivers and lakes. He also said the Unyoro weren't friendly so he would guide them only to the border. He promised to come in the morning and bring a number of bearers.

Shortly after sunrise, Nondo arrived bringing five well muscled young men. Sam was pleased to have additional men to make lighter loads for all and speed the caravan. With the sun not far above the horizon, Sam and Florence seated themselves in relative comfort on oxen's broad backs and Achmed climbed onto a donkey. They were able to cover at least twenty miles a day despite a few rain showers. On most nights, they found empty huts which could be made habitable.

_Habitable_ , Florence decided, was a word like _many, few, weary_ and _ill_ , which all meant different things according to the need. Soon _habitable_ came to mean a roof that kept the rain off and a space that was relatively free of insects and vermin. At best it meant the huts were dry and did not reek.

After the first week of travel, she reluctantly admitted to herself that not strange animals nor birds in exotic trees nor flowers blooming in the grass could stave off monotony. Flies buzzed and oxen swayed, delivering an occasional jolt that made reading impossible. She yearned to immerse herself in a book and then felt ashamed of her discontent when she saw men walking on rough turf or slogging through mire.

On the evening they reached the banks of a swift river and had unburdened beasts and men, Nondo's bearers gathered around him. He told Sam this was as far as he could bring them and that the Unyoros would probably agree to lead the caravan across their land, but he advised Sam to wait for them, not to cross the river until the Unyoros discovered their presence.

While they talked, Florence was looking into one of the huts and arranging her face to conceal her disgust before she talked with Sam. When she turned, she saw Sam bracing himself with the palm of his hand against a tree trunk and, with his hat in the other hand, wipe his brow with his forearm. She went to the water bag to pour a drink for him.

"You're feeling ill again, aren't you?"

"A bit feverish. It will pass."

"We can stay here for a few days. You look weary and the hut is habitable."

"I'm tired, that's all, not incapacitated, Florence."

"Tomorrow we'll talk. Let's have a night's rest first," she said and insisted he take the last of the quinine.

"I hope we soon meet the Unyoros, and that they still have Speke's medicine kit," he said as he agreed to use the quinine as a precaution.

Florence asked Richarn to sweep down thatch and clear debris from the hut she'd inspected, and she asked Achmed to get Sam's cot ready so he might sleep as soon as he'd had a light supper.

In the morning, Sam felt better and was glad to take time to lay out his maps and instruments. He estimated they were almost 4,000 feet above sea level and that this river might be what Speke called the "Somerset Nile." If so, they could hope the lake was not far and the Unyoros willing to guide them.

Richarn had taken a work party to gather wood for building rafts and returned to report that only half a mile from camp he'd seen several men in light colored garments atop a distant hill.

He had waved and shouted but could not get the men's attention; however, as he was telling Sam this, five men, clearly Arabs or Turks, strode toward them. Their leader introduced himself as Hammad, one of Ibrahim's men.

He said that, although it was his first safari with Ibrahim, he had previously been many places in East Africa and knew its languages. However, a few days ago, his scouting party had lost the compass and were uncertain how to find the point where they were to rejoin Ibrahim.

"Then we were fortunate enough to meet the Shooas, who could tell us only where to find the Englishman. We know you carry instruments and are not lost. If you will take us with you, we can be of use to you, too. I know languages and can speak for you, and these men will carry for you."

"If you are here in peace, as we are, you are welcome to join us. We hope to see the Unyoros' chief," Sam said to Hammad and described the route he was planning to follow.

Sam's certainty astonished Florence, and when they were alone, she said so.

"It's essential to sound decisive, especially when you're mightily unsure."

"You convince me. I always believe in you, Sam!"

"Even when I'm not sure what I'm talking about?"

"Especially then."

Although Hammad said he believed there was a great waterfall no more than a day's journey east of the route, Sam resisted the temptation to go there. And he was not willing to waste any time waiting for Unyoros to arrive. They would cross the river when the rafts were ready. That night the weather was clear enough for Sam to verify their location and to say confidently that they were right on course, 2°18" north of the equator.

The next day after ferrying everything over the river with no difficulty, they headed south across increasingly verdant land. On the second night, the sound of drums told them natives were near, and at dawn they saw a number of black men in a dracaena grove fifty yards away. As they watched, the natives formed themselves into two ranks, six abreast, and trotted toward the camp.

"I am not certain if they are Unyoro," Hammad said. "But I will talk to them."

"Tell them we come in peace, that I am brother to the bearded man called Speke. Tell them we bring gifts."

Sam warned everyone to be silent and keep all weapons out of sight. Then he headed back to the pile of luggage, and Florence watched him open a leather valise and pull out a wrinkled tweed jacket and cap. He shook them and put them on.

"How do I look?"

"Terrible! What in the world do you mean to do?"

"Show myself as Speke's 'brother.'"

"You'll bake in that jacket."

"It can't hurt."

"Speke never wore anything but woolens, you know."

"That doesn't quite explain your foolishness."

Sam grinned, adjusted his cap, and brushed his lapels. He took Florence's hand and tucked it into the bend of his elbow. Then followed by Hammad, they stepped out to meet the advancing men. Sam waved a hand cheerily as the group halted within a few feet of him. They carried long lances with feathers at the point and wore skirts of bark cloth belted at their waists. Their hair was close-cropped, and they wore neither jewelry nor paint. The tallest stepped forward and spoke, and Hammad replied that this bearded man was brother to one called Speke and had come to visit Chief Kamrasi.

The Unyoro bowed to Sam and nodded, rubbing his own hairless chin. He turned to shout a command, and his men laid down their lances. The spokesman asked Hammad why Speke's brother had brought so many with him.

"Tell him I brought only my wife. The others serve us and care for pack animals which carry gifts to the chief."

The tall man replied he would take the message to his chief and return the following day. To make sure Sam would be there, they would take his wife with them. Sam refused; he declared men must honor each other's word. The Unyoro's response was that if they did not remain there, his own throat would be slit and his men's throats, too. For emphasis, drew his hand across his own throat, and in unison, the men did the same.

"Hammad, tell them it is not necessary for a hostage to go with them. Ask them to sit with us for a meal."

The Unyoro then accepted Sam's offer and added that they would accept gifts. Sam promised there would be more to come if Chief Kamrasi agreed to receive a bearded friend.

The next morning when Sam awoke Ibrahim was sitting cross legged on the rug outside of the tent sipping coffee. He rose immediately and thanked Sam for the hospitality that had been given to Hammad and his men. He had already been told what was going on, and that although he did not like Kamrasi, he would accompany Sam to the meeting with the chief.

"It would oblige me greatly," Sam told Ibrahim, "if you would stay here instead, and be with my men and our belongings until we return."

"It is an honor to be asked. I shall do as you say."

As they were talking over coffee, six spear-carrying Unyoro arrived and presented an invitation that sounded like a summons. The invitation was directed to Sam but said he might bring his wife. After some negotiation, the Unyoro allowed one servant to come along. Sam thanked Ibrahim and asked Hammad to join him.

Before leaving, Sam and Florence gathered more gifts, left instructions with Richarn to keep the men in line, and gave Saat and Achmed a list of gifts to have ready for their return, in case they would be buying their way out.

"You don't trust Kamrasi," Florence said. "Do you think he'll keep us there, like prisoners?"

"It is not wise to trust anyone we have never seen. What I have confidence in is his greed. We'll have the ransom ready." Walking single-file through grass and dense thickets, Sam, Florence, and Hammad followed two silent warriors, and the other Unyoros walked behind them. They arrived at a stockade of bitter brush surrounding some twenty shelters made of hides stretched on wooden frames. They were led into the largest dwelling where a man in bark cloth and leather lounged on a bank of buffalo hides. Oil burned in bowls, illuminating small copper tables where dried fish and fruits lay on wooden trays.

Without moving, the man announced ln Arabic that he was Kamrasi, Chief of the Unyoro. He welcomed Sam as the "brother to first bearded white friend" and his wife, and he called for the medicine chest Speke had left with him. The Chief presented it to Sam, who pried open the rusted lid. The uncorked bottles lay corroded and grimy, their contents congealed or gone. Florence's gasp was audible, but Sam merely held up an empty vial and cast a sad glance at Kamrasi. The Chief lifted his chin and turned an impassive face toward the servant who was pouring plantain beer into clay cups.

Sam accepted a cup and took a deep draught. Then he asked the distance to Luta N'zige.

"The Shooa lie to you and desert you," Kamrasi sneered. "No honor in commerce or war."

Kamrasi boasted that his own guides would behave honorably. His men would inspect the Englishman's possessions, and Kamrasi would decide what he wanted in exchange for their passage to the lake with his guides.

"Until then, you are my guests, you and your wife. The Arab will go back with my inspectors."

Sam considered the Chief's certainty about the route to the lake encouraging, but the inventory of their baggage annoyed him.

He recognized Kamrasi's invitation as an order, and as two men led them through a grove of shrubs and scrubby trees to a small hut, Sam kept his arm around Florence. He could feel the tension in her body, a slight trembling as if her legs were shaky.

In the hut's dank interior lay a pile of straw. It was partly covered by hides and on the bare dirt floor, where rodents had left their droppings. With the two men stationed outside the door, Sam sat down on the pile of hides and drew Florence down beside him and held her close as they waited. After an hour a silent woman brought trenchers of fish and a peppery paste. The guards let them outside to eat, and they sat on the ground among fat white ants that attacked every crumb.

When it grew dark, one of the men handed Sam a bowl in which an oily wick burned. The smell was pungent, but less unpleasant than the moldy reek of the hut. It gave a bit of light, and its fumes might keep away a few insects.

"We're prisoners," Florence whispered, "and you aren't surprised, are you?"

"As I said, I trusted only his greed. However, I did expect we'd be treated with some semblance of civility, as guests, that is."

"He's a monster!"

* * *

Three days dragged by broken only by the arrival of a woman bringing two meals each day.

"They've had more than enough time to go through all we have; why is he keeping us?"

"It's too early to worry, Florrie. He's flaunting his power." Sam took her in his arms.

"Achmed must have been distressed," Florence said in a voice that didn't sound like her own, "to see them opening everything and you not there." She tried to focus on someone, something, somewhere else to turn away her fear. Neither of them had thought to bring anything to read or to write on, and she watched Sam as he sat like a captive in a cave and marked the days with lines in the dirt. They had to stand to eat their meals outside. Other than that, they were allowed out of the hut only to squat in the grass to relieve their bowels behind the bushes while a guard stood near.

"He does turn his back," Florence whispered, "but it's still nerve wracking."

On the fifth day, a servant appeared and led them to Chief Kamrasi, who greeted them as jovially as any friendly host. When Sam said a coldly civil, "Good morning," Kamrasi strutted back and forth, clicking his tongue in disapproval before he faced them.

"Your cargo," he sneered, "holds nothing of interest, nothing of value. I should send you away. But I am a kind man. I ask only one small price, and then you get guides to take you to the lake."

Kamrasi had been speaking only to Sam, but now he turned to Florence. She felt his gaze working its way over her entire body, as if estimating her weight or wondering about what was beneath her clothing, and she felt a hot flush creep up her neck and cheeks.

"I will take your wife. That is my only offer."

Florence took a step back and saw Sam reach for the knife he carried in his boot. But the guards were on him in an instant, pinning his arms to his sides, and Florence threw herself at this knot of struggling men. She clawed at the guards' hands and, in a mix of Arabic, German, and English, screamed at them to untie Sam. They didn't even bother to look at her, and she turned to snarl at Kamrasi in Arabic, saying he would never, never touch her, that he was a tyrant. The guard who had attacked and tied Sam's arms, now gripped Florence's shoulder, and a silence fell.

Kamrasi looked annoyed but unshaken.

"You dare to attack me?"

"I have not done so. You are well protected. But if you lay a hand on my wife, I will find means to free her. I will find a way to attack you and any person who would harm her."

"Your wife is in no danger. She will be comfortable. And I will give you a young virgin for your comfort."

Florence started to speak, and the chief frowned and shook his head as he might at an erring child. Then he gestured to the guards, who both let go of Florence, and he glared at Sam.

"Think about it. She is only a woman, and not one of good temper. I give you one young, beautiful, obedient. And guides to take you to find the lake."

"We came expecting to be your guests, certainly not to be held prisoners. Now you make a request that insults us, showing no respect for my wife or for me. Have you no honor?"

"Go think. I will call for you tomorrow."

Sam gripped Florence's hand as the guards hurried them back to the hut. Inside, she stumbled to the bed and curled into a fetal position, trying to control her trembling. Sam cursed and paced back and forth.

"He'll kill you and take me," Florence whispered.

"Never," Sam said. He came to sit on the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms, rubbed her back and shoulders and kissed her face, but she couldn't stop shaking.

"I won't sleep here again, but if I do fall asleep, please wake me. I know you won't let him have me, Sam. But promise you won't leave me alone. Promise to wake me if they come."

"Hush, hush, my dearest. I promise I will not leave you alone. They would have to kill us both."

* * *

Sam seated himself with his back against the doorway and waited.

He could hear Florence's breathing become regular and knew her fear and nerves had exhausted her. He could not have slept if he had walked thirty miles uphill, would not drift off no matter how calm the night. Alert and edgy, he watched the guards standing straight and tall, blinking their eyes to keep awake. His own eyes were fixed on them as he felt for his knife; if he had to use it, he would, though it might not save them. If they made an attempt to take Florence by force, they would have to kill him. And he would try to kill her first; he couldn't think about it but knew he must do it.

He thought about how often he'd exposed Florence to dangers, but this was the ultimate one, the sort he'd been warned about. She now faced slavery even more hideous than the one from which he'd saved her. If necessary, he would kill them both. During the last few days of inaction, he had thought about how he might trick the sleepy and vulnerable guards. Even if he managed some way to overcome them both, he had no plan to free them from the multitude of guards any unexpected sounds would bring.

As the sky paled and birds awoke, Sam heard people walking through the underbrush, but they were only two women bringing food and drink. Sam didn't wake Florence. When the women left, one of the guards followed them, and Sam knew this might be his only chance. He woke Florence, cautioning her against making a sound, and told her to be ready to run. She rose from the bed and looked beyond Sam. Two guards were in the doorway.

"Sam, they've come for me."

Sam swung around to face the men, ready to fight, but they bowed and stood aside. He saw they bore no arms, and one, Sam saw, was the spokesman who brought them to Kamrasi, and he beckoned them to follow him. When they came to the end of a path, they saw Hammad waiting, and in silence they all retraced the way to the caravan. Sam dreaded what they would find there, but before they reached camp, Ibrahim walked out to meet them and assured them all was well at the camp. Only then did the Unyoro speak, saying Kamrasi ordered him to take care of the Englishman and his wife and to guide them to the lake they called Luta N'zige.

Richarn described to Florence and Sam how Kamrasi's men had come there and gone through their supplies, taking rifles and a carpet as well as beads and copper. He said he didn't know how to discourage them, for they were hostile and armed with spears and knives. They had wasted no time and spoke to no one until they had all their loot; then they asked Ibrahim to accompany them in carrying the gifts to Kamrasi. Ibrahim had gone along, and Kamrasi had greeted him in a most friendly way, assuring him that Sam and his wife were comfortable.

Sam and Florence thanked Ibrahim; they parted on the best of terms, relieved by this end to any animosity they had shared in the past. Ibrahim's trading caravan headed north and would carry news of the Englishman to Koorshid Aga. Hammad, however, had found a good friend in Sam's crew he wanted to stay. Sam could use Hammad's skill in languages and asked Ibrahim to allow it.

The next day their Unyoro guide returned and made friends with the men, who did not hold Kamrasi's greed against him.

"Sam, what was it all for?" Florence asked. "Was Kamrasi enjoying our fear and misery?"

"Who can tell? Perhaps he had a change of mind, knowing he would have to kill me. Or maybe it was all a game. But I believe Kamrasi knows he went too far."

"I hope we never meet him again."

"I can't say how sorry I am that I took you with me. I was misled by Speke's reports of the man."

"Don't blame yourself, Sam. I would have made a fuss if you'd tried to go there without me."

Sam believed her but could not excuse himself. It grieved him to see how deeply frightened she'd been and thought it would be nearly impossible for her forget that terror. She looked weary, her face pale, eyes sunken. He must watch her carefully, and he resolved to learn from what happened and know how better to keep her safe.

### Chapter 25

The Lake

The Unyoro guide promised to take them directly to Luta N'zige, big lake. Heading to the southeast, they slogged over marshy ground and through dense undergrowth where the air hummed with insects. Clouds of gnats drifted over the caravan, flew in their eyes, and stuck to their sweaty faces. Florence's tunic clung to her back and arms, and her pelvis ached from straddling the broad ox. Her loins were sticky with menstrual blood and it oozed through every cloth she wore. Her ox swayed and, as its hooves sank in muck, Florence turned sideways and swung a leg over its back, gripped the harness with both hands, and let herself down to the ground. With one hand still holding the harness, she trudged along at the animal's side, yearning to give in, to lie down under a tree, to weep.

Ashamed of her weakness, Florence told herself there was no call for self-pity. Long ago, fleeing from fire, she had told Marie to just put one foot in front of the other and think of something else. Her advice could not have consoled a child, yet it was the only way she knew to outlast misery. She knew it and now prayed Marie had learned it and had survived whatever her captors inflicted.

Her canteen bounced against her hip, and with a free hand she fumbled to unscrew the cap at the same instant her ox lurched to a halt. Her canteen swung in an arc, spraying precious water into the air, and she lost her grip on the harness. Her feet sank into the mud, and it oozed over the tops of her boots. She threw her arms wide to keep her balance while both feet mired in the swamp and her body swayed like a sapling. She cried out to Sam as her knees buckled and the glaring sun bobbled across her vision and was gone.

* * *

Sam heard Florence's strangled cry and turned to see her arms flailing helplessly. He reached her side, circled her waist to pull her from the mud and, as he lifted her onto the ox, he saw her eyes roll upward and her face turn glossy white. Feeling himself sinking, too, he shouted to Achmed and Hammad. Together they pulled Florence out of her boots and laid her limp body across the ox's back. With shaking hands, Sam loosened her scarf and tucked it between her face and the saddle blanket; then he opened her collar and washed her face with water from his canteen. She stirred and tried to lift her head.

"Florrie, I'm sorry to load you like a sack of meal, but it's the only way to take you out of this muck. We'll soon come to a dry place, some shade where we can rig a litter for you."

"It's all right. I rode to Widdin this way, rode across a horse— to Widdin."

"Dearest, don't think of that. I'm here to take care of you. I'll get more water and soon we'll find a camping spot."

"I'm all right."

Sam walked beside her for the half hour it took to reach dry ground, and she was able to sit under a tree while they set up her cot and pitched the tent around it before the rain fell. Sam helped her out of her clothes, unpinned her hair, and then adjusted her pillow.

"Achmed will bring you a cup of tea in another moment."

"You spoil me, Sam."

"Would that I could, Florrie. You deserve coddling and the time will come when I can do it well."

In the night the rain pattered on the canvas shelters as Sam waited and watched to be sure Florence was sleeping well. Then he slept lightly for a time. When the rain stopped, he woke and went outside for a look at the sky and then he crept back for his instruments. He took readings and was stowing the instruments away when he heard Florence breathe in harsh, dry gasps. He felt her forehead for fever and then bathed her temples with water and alcohol. She stirred and moaned but didn't awake, and after a few minutes, Sam lay on his cot, listening until her breathing grew regular.

In the first morning light, he found her still feverish and waited at her side until she woke. Achmed brought tea and fruit, which she refused, and Sam asked him to wait by the tent while he went to tell the men they were not going to move on for a day or two. When Sam returned he told Achmed the quinine was all gone.

"She will have to fight this illness with her own strength. Thank you for your help; I rely on it. But try to enjoy some rest. Richarn will keep the men busy."

The hours crept by with little visible change in Florence's condition. In the evening the guide returned from visiting a village and brought friends and pots of fermenting juice. Before long their voices and laughter grew loud, and Sam left Florence's side to scold them. Like guilty children, they remained quiet until he returned to his vigil. Florence had not awakened, but when they again grew noisy, Sam went out and kicked over a jug of beer. He ordered his crew to bed and the visitors to leave the camp, and then returned to the tent and flopped down on his cot.

He fell asleep several times, awaking several times in panic and fearing Florence's breathing had stopped. The sun was above the treetops before she moaned and opened her eyes. He rubbed her back, bathed her, and went to get some bark tea and insisted she swallow it. Some hours later, she swore she felt better in general, but still had a pounding headache. When she fell asleep again, Sam went out and looked for some work to do but ended by walking back and forth between the tent and the camp's perimeter.

When the next morning brought no significant change, Sam despaired. He could do nothing. Florence seemed unable to rally enough strength to defeat this malady. He told the men they must wait a bit longer, and Achmed wept while he prepared the meals. They had all heard hyenas barking in the night and could smell their stench on the wind. Fearing the hyenas' sensed an imminent death, Sam paced outside of the tent and castigated himself for his pride, his certainty that he was able to make life bearable, even comfortable, in any place. He should never have let her come with him, no matter that she had insisted the decision was hers, for she could not have imagined the peril. He knew danger and yet had refused to consider how bad things might become, had dismissed all advice.

At sun-up she seemed to be sleeping easily, and Sam left the tent. When he returned and spoke to her, she opened her eyes.

"Mein Gott!" she moaned through parched lips.

Sam dropped to his knees beside the cot as she babbled in a flood of Magyar and German, and, though he didn't understand it all, he responded in German. She looked into his eyes then and said his name. Achmed heard her voice, and the cup he carried rattled and sloshed hot tea into the saucer. Sam took the cup and held it to Florence's cracked lips while Achmed backed out of the tent. When Sam looked around to give him the cup, he saw Achmed on his knees, lowering his forehead to the ground.

Sam went to Richarn and Saat to tell them to devise a bed, an angarep, with a sun-shade, to carry Florence when she was able, and they would resume their journey. Later he went out to look for small game and came back with four birds. Achmed cooked all day to make a fine broth for Florence, nourishment that she took slowly, regaining an appetite and eventually her strength. Nevertheless, she would have to be carried, Sam said.

"We'll take our time, a little progress each day, and we'll reach our goal. We will find the lake and go home." Florence smiled when she saw what Richarn and Saat had contrived for her comfort.

"A palanquin, my dear. You'll ride like a princess."

"And the poor wretches must carry me, what a shame."

"You deserve no less, Florrie."

* * *

Four men at a time shouldered the canopied cot, and as Sam pointed out to her, her ox would easily carry the men's loads.

On the rugged terrain, the bed swayed and tilted, and Florence tried to suppress her gasps, but most of the time she slept.

The first night, they camped near a village where Achmed was able to buy fresh food, and he found a medicine man who came with him to treat her. Sam wouldn't allow the man to administer his potions but let the village women bathe her while he did his dance. The women brushed her hair, murmuring over its golden waves. They laid aromatic leaves on her breast and dropped honey on her tongue. Their attentions soothed Florence, and she slept well.

For ten days they passed through shoulder-high grass and thickets where the men had to hack away thorny bushes and barbed vines. Kamrasi had said it was twenty days to the lake, and if he was right they should be there by now, but Sam appeared confident and told Florence he was sure the lake was near, yet she worried. She imagined they would awake one morning to find Kamrasi's man gone. They would be lost. The huts they passed were deserted.

They hadn't seen a native for days.

In mid-afternoon the bearers set her cot down in the shade of a cabbage tree and sprawled on the ground for a brief rest. She was wakened by shrill whistles and howls that split the air, and over a hill to the east, a mob of black men came, and she was certain this meant trouble. She buried her face in her pillow, but the howls ceased, replaced by shouts and laughter. She tried to lift her head when she saw Achmed and Hammad and some other men dancing around Sam. Six women came into sight with baskets on their heads and jugs in their arms, and Sam came to her side talking about "lake people."

"They come from a village they call Parkani, and they say if we start early tomorrow, we can dip our hands in the lake by noon!"

Welcome as those words were, Florence couldn't speak and barely managed a smile.

"Florence, it means we are almost there! In the morning these men will lead us to Luta N'zige. Now, we'll enjoy the feast the women brought and get a good sleep."

"I can't believe it, Sam. And here I lie, so weak I can barely walk- sorry to be so helpless."

"You are hardly that, my dearest. You are on the mend and merely need a little more time. You'll see it differently then."

She tried to believe it was true but she felt nothing. She lay back and slept.

* * *

One of the lake people, a powerfully built young man, more than six feet tall, had promised he would guide them. He called himself Rabonga and said he would be back by sun-up. Sam hardly slept, excited by high hopes that clashed with his awareness that he should be prepared for more delays. Finally he ceased efforts to sleep, and he left his cot to walk around camp and watch the eastern sky brighten. It was not long before Rabonga joined him, and soon they woke the men for the routine work of departure.

Sam went to wake Florence and was happy when she smiled and spoke cheerfully of the day ahead.

The caravan set out toward the hilly horizon beyond which distant mountain tops emerged from the morning mist. The cool morning stimulated Sam's spirits and strengthened his hopes. It renewed his determination not to be disappointed if, beyond the hills, there was no more than another river running through yet another valley. They were trekking across a beautiful land under a cloudless sky, and he told himself to enjoy it. But by late morning, his patience waned, and spurring his ox, he quickly outdistanced the company with only Rabonga with him, running easily at his side.

A few feet below the crest, Sam dismounted and handed the reins to Rabonga. Alone, his heart pounding in anticipation, he marched forward and stood at the summit.

There, with the sun almost overhead ln the brilliant sky, he saw a silvery expanse of water that stretched to the horizon on the south and east, and fifty or sixty miles to the west where a mile-high range of blue mountains rose above the water stretched north and south. Sam's eyes were still dazzled by the glittering panorama when he looked down and, 1500 feet below, saw the lake rippling gently against a sandy shore.

Scarcely able to draw a breath, he raised his eyes and, lifting his arms, dropped to his knees. He had planned to say a prayer of thanks, had meant to stand and lead his men in a very British three cheers, but now those responses did not match what he felt. He felt, not triumphant, but overwhelmed with humility and gratitude for his discovery, for his portion of a solution to the mystery of the waters of the Nile.

Rising to his feet, he turned and saw the men running up the bank, and he saw Florence sitting on the edge of her angarep, looking up at him. He rushed down to her. Their eyes met, and without a word, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the crest. They stood, arms clasped around each other, and they gazed at the manifestation of their long-held dream. Sam felt her draw a deep breath, felt her breathe in the scent of water and its freshened air, and saw her face glow with joy.

"Beautiful, beautiful, Sam. Our lake looks cool and fresh."

"Our lake, yes, it is our lake, Florrie. Our dream lies before us. I shall name it Lake Albert, for the Prince Consort, a foreigner whom our queen loved deeply. It is the companion to Speke's Lake Victoria, and together they are the source of great bounty. You and I were destined to find it, Florrie, the source of the White Nile, the river that nourishes a continent."

"Oh, Sam, it is your finding and reaching the lake, that is what is wonderful. It's a dream you made come true."

" _We_ made come true, _our_ effort, _our_ struggle, _our_ reward." Oblivious to the dancing and shouting men, they stood in close embrace, prolonging the moment. Sam wanted to be sure this beautiful woman who had shared the disappointments now shared the rapture.

"We must go down there, to the shore. Can you walk, Florrie, with my support?"

"Oh, yes, Sam. I cannot believe how well I feel, though I know I'm not truly strong yet."

The bluff facing the lake was steep with outcroppings of bare granite, and their descent was slow. Sam held her close to his side, feeling out each step on the way down, and following Rabonga, who first tested every foothold. Sam paused often to let Florence sit and rest.

At the bottom, he settled her on a flat rock, pulled off his boots, and ran across the coarse, hard-packed sand and into the lake. He scooped the cool water into his mouth and, in his cupped hands, carried water to Florence, and she drank. He looked into her eyes and smoothed back her hair with his wet hands.

"A kind of baptism, Florrie, for you and me!" He sat at her feet, his head on her thigh. "March 16, 1864. We've traveled a long road in our five years together."

"Next month will make it three years since we left Cairo. That's not so long, considering all we've seen."

"It is good to hear you say that. But it must have seemed too long sometimes."

"Not often, dearest," Florence said, and then her voice lifted as she asked, "and now we can go back?"

### Chapter 26

Looking northwest along the shore of the lake, they saw signs of habitation, but not wanting to make the pack animals descend the scarp, Sam sent the caravan along the ridge while he and Rabonga went down to walk along the shore. They passed a pile of broken fishing gear and then by cane grids where a row of four foot long perch lay drying. After two hours they came upon a village fifty feet back from the shoreline and nestled in the curve of cliffs. Between straw dwellings and the shore, bamboo racks were festooned with ropes of drying plantain fiber. Huge iron hooks lay half buried in sand, and harpoons and wooden floats leaned against dugout canoes. Sam considered the great strength it would require to throw one of those huge spears and then to haul a hippo's carcass ashore on a float.

Rabonga assured Sam these fishermen, also of the Parkani tribe, would be helpful, and Sam counted on that.

"Offer our greetings and ask permission for our company to camp on the bluff for a while. Try to find out where the flow of waters in and out of the lake may be found. And then, ask if they have men who will go with us."

Sam knew he had to locate the outflow into the White Nile as well as a connection between this lake and the Somerset Nile.

Only finding these connections could validate his claims of Lake Albert as a source of the Nile.

"I want to hire boats and oarsmen who can take us along the shore. You must make them understand what we require."

The village people listened to Rabonga and agreed to help.

The leaders sat with Sam to listen to what he had in mind and to share their knowledge of the lake. The leader said he would sell them the canoes and provide skillful oarsmen who knew the lake.

He also offered huts they could live in while they prepared for a lake voyage. Sam gestured toward the cliffs and said he would be with his caravan above, but he gratefully accepted the offer of huts for Rabonga and some of his men. He then traded beads and bracelets for two kids, which he and Rabonga carried on a zigzag path up the cliff.

Under Richarn's direction, the men had set up camp, and Achmed was happy to make an excellent meal of the kids. He told Sam Florence had rested well on the way and that the meat would be good for her.

"Splendid! We'll celebrate today's discovery with a feast to show our men their perseverance is appreciated."

Rabonga declined the feast, saying he would rather go back to the village; he then bowed to Florence and took Sam's hand to wish them good-evening. It seemed to be a ceremonious departure, and Sam wondered if Rabonga would be there the next morning; it was merely a passing thought which he didn't mention to Florence.

"The people in the village invited us to stay," he said, "but their whole town reeks of fish. You would not enjoy a stay in one of their huts."

Sitting in front of the tent after dinner, they watched the moon rise above the mountains on the far side of Lake Albert, and it occurred to them they might be those "Mountains of the Moon" the Greeks had claimed were the Nile's source. The moon lay a glittering carpet across the lake, and for beauty, it rivaled their first sight of "their lake." Only when Achmed had cleared away their coffee cups, did Sam get around to talk about what was to come, their next task.

"We have done what we dreamed of, Florrie, achieved what we both hoped for. Yet it's not complete. We must be certain there will be no cloud over our discovery."

He sketched plans to follow the shore to the mouth of the Somerset Nile and after that to find a river, the Nile, flowing out of the lake. And while Florence knew the need to prove their claims, Sam wanted to be sure she understood the danger inherent in this delay.

"We need to reach Gondokoro while the Nile is at flood, that is, before the last boats leave for Khartoum."

"I understand, Sam. I know you'll do what must be done and that we must hope and pray for the best."

Sam knew she was determined to sound the right note and, in a surge of gratitude for her trust in his decisions, he took her in his arms.

"Oh, Florrie, I do cherish you. You're the best companion and bravest, finest friend a man could ever hope to find."

He took her hand and led her to the edge of the bluff where they could savor their present joy and recapture the joy of their first sight of the lake, the goal they had so long sought.

In the morning Sam took Richarn, Saat, and four others with him to the village and found Rabonga waiting to lead them to the head man. Negotiating began and soon solved the problem of their excess equipment, trading every item they could conceivably do without to get the necessary canoes, supplies, and boatmen.

When the materials were supplied, Sam and his own men fitted out the two dugouts. With his auger, Sam drilled holes in the gunwales for oars and used long, supple poles to frame a cover of reeds and ox hides, creating a turtle shell on each boat to keep off sun and rain. In one canoe he fashioned a reed floor and ox- hide benches to make a comfortable cabin for Florence and himself. Extra plaids were turned into sails for masts Richarn and Saat had erected, and Florence had to laugh at this product of Sam's ingenuity.

The chief told Sam what he knew of the lake and the nations around it, saying that most peoples were friendly but the lake was perilous. Sam said he intended to stay close to the shore, and the chief named which tribes he might encounter: Chopi, Uganda, Utumbi, and Karagwe. His men could take them a short distance to the mouth of a river that came through many cataracts and emptied into the lake at a village called Magungo. The other place that Sam needed to locate was where a river flowed out of the lake, and the chief said it was beyond the town of Koshi.

His canoes had followed it downstream as far as the rapids, which at this time were beyond the war between the Maadis and Koshis.

Sam now believed there was little hope of going down this part of the river and then caravanning east to Katchiba's land, where they hoped to restock supplies and return to Gondokoro before the end of April. It was not going to be possible. The more realistic alternative was to have Rabonga take the oxen and heavy camping equipment to Magungo and wait for them there.

On their first day on the lake, clouds obscured the far side, but the water was calm and the scenery beautiful. Two Vacovians handled oars at each end of the two canoes while Sam and Richarn maneuvered the sails to catch any helpful breeze.

From time to time, oarsmen threw handfuls of small blue stones into the water, magic to keep hippos away, they said, but Sam put his faith in the elephant gun at his side to protect them.

That evening, a storm swept up the length of the lake and nearly swamped them. They dragged the boats onto the mudflats and spent the night huddled under in their shelters. Sam and Florence slept under their turtle shell on damp bedding and by morning both felt ill and feverish. But the sky was clear and they launched the boats. Because the waves were still high, they hugged the shore, where mosquitoes swarmed around their heads and crocodiles stared at them and slapped their tails in the muddy shallows.

After another three days, the boatmen said they were near Magungo. When they had beached the boats on a clean sand beach, they said they would go to the village for the night and started to walk off with the oars. Sam stopped them, took the oars and insisted two of own his men go along to bring back food for supper. His men returned, bringing a native who asked a high price for a few fowls and a kid, and Sam was too ill to argue. After a tasteless meal cooked on a spit, they all made their beds on the beach under a clear sky.

When morning came and the boatmen had not returned, Sam took Richarn and went after them. All they found was a few miserable shacks and a man who claimed to have no knowledge of boatmen.

With eight of his own men at the oars they set out on a calm lake and before noon reached Magungo. They found the mouth of a turbid river that didn't meet Sam's expectations. If Speke had accurately measured Lake Victoria's altitude and if he, himself, was right about Lake Albert, the Somerset Nile ought to be a torrent at its mouth. This murky water didn't even resemble the swift, clear stream they once crossed, let alone a torrent.

Disappointed and weary, Sam trudged through the town until he found Rabonga, and they set about seeking information. He had sent Richarn and Saat to scout up-river, but when daylight faded, they returned to say it was wider but had no strong current. Sam had, however, learned from townsmen the sluggish river passed through many rapids, and, added to possible breadth of low lands, that might possibly explain its changes.

He had also found more corroboration of his conviction that if they continued along the shore, they would find the river Nile flowing north out of the lake. He would investigate, find the outflow, and return here to take their boats up this muddy stream to verify that this same river surges out of Lake Victoria.

He made arrangements for Rabonga to remain with the oxen and gear while he and the crew went upstream to locate the place they had crossed on their way south. On the way, he hoped to see the extensive cataracts or the great falls they'd heard about. After that it would not be too difficult to trace their steps to Obbo country and then on to Gondokoro.

But time was running out, and Sam first must see the headwaters of the great river.

Reeds snagged the oars, cabbage lilies floated around their boats, and for a day the lake seemed a swamp, but then quickly the banks became more defined. Within hours the lake narrowed, and the boatmen could feel the current strengthening, propelling them northward. It was noon the next day when they saw currents purling out of the lake in a narrow stream that Sam was certain was what they were looking for: the White Nile at the start of its long journey to the Mediterranean Sea.

"It seems so slight, a mere rivulet meandering off to the north," Florence said.

"But one that will grow strong enough to cleave rock walls and scour paths through sands and bring life to the continent."

Their goal affirmed, they yearned to ride that current, to go north with it, to ride downstream until their boats could not pass, and then to trek to Khartoum. But it was impossible. Even if they had already answered the inflow questions, it would be foolhardy to try to navigate impassable cataracts and to face at least two tribes at war. They must refuse the Nile's inviting current and turn south in the morning.

Back at the mouth of the muddy tributary, Sam laid out his charts and tried to reconcile his calculations with Speke's. The only way to make sense of the discrepancy now was to go up the river to the great falls natives described and then on to where his caravan had crossed the river with the Unyoros months ago. Then after a stop at Katchiba's village for supplies, they could follow the Nile to Gondokoro and, with fortune on their side, arrive in time to sail down the Nile to Khartoum.

If fate deemed otherwise, they would be in the middle of the continent for another year. He reworked his calculations, going over the dog-eared calendar while slapping moths that circled the lamp. He swore softly and looked up at Florence.

"It is the only way to be sure of what we have found."

"So that's what we must do, Sam. There is no other answer."

"We might very well miss the boats to Khartoum this year. Do you know what that means, Florrie?"

"I know. We've come so far, Sam, so far and for so long. We have no choice but to finish what we began."

This was again a brave and kind speech. She had said what he needed to hear, and Sam wanted to believe she felt as determined as she sounded. Surely she realized they might fail, might never get back to Gondokoro. With no medicine and other supplies dwindling, and nobody to aid them in any way, they would not last long. But he saw no point in saying such things.

They paddled up the river with little opposition from the sluggish current but plagued by swarming insects. Hippos lay in the dark waters, blending with the muddy banks and invisible until the boats were almost on top of them. Then they rose up in fright or anger. With seeming malice, crocodiles eyed them from the mud or from floating logs and then slipped into the water to snap at the oars.

From the high banks and verdant ledges on each side of the river, unseen hunters launched flights of arrows that apparently were not intended to hit them, since none ever did and not a native ever showed himself. Sam hoped that meant that the arrows were assertions of territorial rights, merely warnings.

Darkness came early in the depths of the deep canyon, and they anchored in a backwater and ate smoked fish they'd brought with them. They devoured it quickly, drank their tea, and retreated beneath netting to try to sleep while every snort and splash around echoed through the narrow gorge. At the first sign of light sliding down the canyon wall, Sam and Florence rolled back the netting, and Sam bellowed to wake the men. Mosquitoes, gnats, and sand flies assaulted them as the men propelled their canoes into midstream, where Achmed lit the burners and made breakfast.

"It's so still and peaceful, Sam, an Eden with bugs."

"It is, but we, not the insects, are the intruders in this paradise."

"Why do you think that? We don't do harm."

"If we belonged here, we would be vigorous and well, and in harmony with our surroundings. As it is, we battle fevers and insects and dream of home."

"I have no home but this," Florence said, "no place to dream of. My health and a few amenities are all I need."

"But you know, Florrie, this is the one land that has proven me wrong. Our planning hasn't left us very comfortable, has it, my dear?"

"Please, Sam, we can't blame ourselves, must not give way to bitterness. It isn't like you to talk so."

"I'm sorry, Florrie, but I should have listened more to the people who warned us, people right here on this continent, and less to my fatuous confidence in my own experience. We're living wretchedly because we outlasted our supplies, and because this is no unspoiled wilderness but a savage land. We must leave it as quickly as we can."

"But if we can't?"

Sam put down his cup and took her hand in both of his.

"No, we cannot allow ourselves to consider defeat. We will get out alive, Florrie. We are both weak from fever, but we will endure. We'll prevail and enjoy our victory."

In mid-morning they heard a cataract's roar, and soon the boats were tossed by foaming currents in the twenty-foot-wide channel. They poled the crafts around a bend and secured them on a spit of sand protected by outcropping rocks where they stood for some time, mesmerized by the magnificent falls. Then Sam set up instruments and calculated that the water exploded over a cliff more than 130 feet above them. He was now nearly certain that this was the Somerset Nile and said he would name the falls for Murchison, the head of the Royal Geographic Society.

"But, Sam, isn't that the man who refused to support you ln this venture?"

"Triumph, Florence, leaves no room for pettiness or bitter feelings."

"None, Sam, none at all?"

"None, Florrie. We have won the game, I believe, but we'll be absolutely certain if we can trace this river all the way to the falls we saw on our way here."

"If? Another if?"

"Not a very big one."

The falls were surrounded by steep cliffs that made portage impractical. They turned back downstream and reached Magungo in a day and a half. There, Sam paid his boatmen, and with Rabonga he rounded up supplies and bearers. They were ready by the first week in April to go back to Murchison Falls and take the caravan around the steepest cliffs and get back to the river.

### Chapter 27

The Way Back

They made a wide sweep around Murchison Falls and, once above them, followed the river to Karuma Falls and to the place they had crossed the river on their way south. Then, at last, they were ready to turn northward toward Kamrasi's land.

Sam asked Rabonga whether his Parkani people were on good terms with the Unyoros. Rabonga said he knew nothing of tribal trouble, nor did he know the lands to the north. He would be of little use to them, he said, and he wanted to go home.

"We shall miss you, but I can't ask you to stay. We're very grateful for all you have done."

Rabonga told the bearers they must stay until Sam released them from service. He then bid them all farewell, tied the gifts Sam had given him to a log, and plunged across the river. From the far side, he turned to wave and then was gone.

"I had great faith in him, and I'll miss him, but we'll be all right. We're not strangers to this land."

"I know and I trust you, Sam, always. Yet I dread being in Kamrasi's domain."

"I think he has finished with us, and we'll do all we can to avoid a chance meeting. It's your health that concerns me."

"I am stronger every day. Don't worry."

* * *

Sam decided to ease his mind by rigging a sedan chair for her. It would be more comfortable than the angarep and would be infinitely better than riding an ox. He would keep to himself his other concerns: vagaries of bearers, duplicity of chiefs, and health of the entire crew. He had not a single one of the basic medicines for the illnesses that afflicted them at random. His own recurrent fever was depleting his energy, and he would scarcely admit to himself how exhausted he felt. There were forces he couldn't dominate, the very worst of which was time. The days passed swiftly, battering their hopes of reaching civilization.

However, the steady pace of their daily trek kept him from dwelling on what could not be made right. They covered twenty miles a day, enjoying sights of gazelles, bushbucks, herons and egrets, and even the ibis, so precious in Egypt. He hunted small game, like guinea fowl, so that they had a steady supply of meat for Achmed to cook excellent meals. If only time, but not their pace, would slow.

* * *

Riding in her chair, Florence tried to show her gratitude to the men who carried her, but she felt so glum it was hard to do. Her clothes felt clammy from brief sprinkles of warm rain and the relentless heat, and her fatigue was relentless no matter how much she slept. She tried not to reveal her misery and increase Sam's worries about her.

At night, whether in tent or hut, she and Sam reached out to hold hands across the space between their cots. They seldom made love with the intensity of earlier times, yet their conversations were more tender than ever. They spoke sadly of Johann and his death and the loss of Osman's easy laughter, and at other times they discussed their good fortune in finding Achmed and recalled the comforts of Katchiba's village. They recalled books they loved, places they'd enjoyed together, regrets that no longer mattered.

Florence thought about Sam's trust in Providence. They had known that an insect's sting or a rhino's rampage could mean death, yet they had escaped all such dangers and had rallied from every illness. They could have been tortured or killed by hostile tribes, yet had been endangered by only one man and been aided by many. She didn't understand Sam's Providence, his faith in an almighty God, but she trusted in experience; and however painful her experiences, they had given her strength to endure, change, and survive. Still, she knew it was possible that such good fortune might not hold good in future.

* * *

As to their future, Sam remained confident they could endure all that came their way. Many nights as they lay on a rug under a dome of stars, they fantasized about the pleasures they'd find on their return.

"What we may need first is a dose of paregoric," Sam said, "but beyond that, I could certainly like to tip back a cool tankard of Allsopp's pale ale. It has no match for slaking the thirst or setting the world to rights."

"Tea, wonderful rolled and dried tea from China."

"Or from Ceylon," he added in obeisance to the Bakers' tea plantation. "For me, a fine claret or port after a meal."

"A huge bath with lovely soap and great, soft towels."

"And an enormous bed, clean sheets."

"Amazing how comfortable we were in Khartoum."

"At first it looked uncivilized, a hell-hole."

"Ah, yes, we hadn't yet seen Gondokoro!"

* * *

Traveling almost due north, they took shelter under trees when brief squalls swept in, and at night stayed in deserted huts or took advantage of clear weather to sleep under the stars. Sam took sightings to make sure they held to the route he'd mapped. With leafy boughs the drivers whapped the oxen and maintained their pace from first light until dusk.

They reached the Attiba river and found it high. They would have to ford it and ferry Florence and the equipment. Gathering wood and reeds and building two rafts took all of one day and half of another. The crossing itself left men shivering, and Sam decided they would set up camp while he and Richarn scouted the region. Walking the river's bank, Sam confirmed what he had first observed: the Nile had passed flood stage and was dropping. In this third week of April, the rains were already diminishing. It was not a good sign.

They carried the rafts with them and, after a day, crossed the Assua into Obbo country, where they knew they were no longer in danger of meeting Kamrasi. Within three days, the features of the land looked familiar to Sam and Richarn, who had scouted it, and they looked forward to their arrival at Katchiba's village. Florence recognized the garden she had sown and tended nearly a year before and cried out with joy. It had been well maintained, and again squashes and melons lay ripe on the vines and beans ran rampant on their poles.

"Oh, Sam, look! A harvest. They've take such good care!"

"Nature is bountiful," Sam said, "and whimsical."

Several Obbos saw them and after a short greeting ran off to announce their coming to the village. Soon they were met by many whose faces were familiar and a few whose names they couldn't recall. Waiting at the dwelling they used during their previous visit stood Chief Katchiba, wearing his wide and wonderful grin.

"What a glorious welcome!" Sam shouted, and he and the Obbo chief embraced.

Florence's eyes filled with tears when the children of the herb woman came to stand so close she couldn't take a step, and she took their hands in hers. Then while Sam and Katchiba talked and the Obbo men helped to unload luggage, Florence went into the hut and found everything they'd left behind. There, within her reach, were her two cases of books. She yearned to take one in hand and curl up on a rug with it.

While Florence and Achmed settled their goods into the huts, Sam went to talk with Katchiba. They sat in his throne room facing one another across a table, and Katchiba told Sam the tribal wars had not ended but had moved to the north.

When he returned to their hut, Achmed was tending the camp stove, warming a meal the women had delivered. Florence waited to hear what the chief had to say, but Sam was loathe to tell her what the news portended. He chose, as he so often did, to reveal it a little at a time.

"The food smells good. We should eat it while it's fresh," he said as he washed his hands.

"Hammad has gone to see how the men are doing, and Achmed will wait for him before serving the meal. So tell me what you've learned."

"Well, about the route we followed to the lake," Sam began, "I am reasonably certain it would have led us past the lake had the Shooas not altered our course. But when I told Katchiba we found a more direct route, he would not believe me."

"His pride, perhaps? He doesn't like to admit error."

"Right, Florence. That's the likely explanation. It would have been hard to admit either error or ignorance. But I wonder if, perhaps, I should tell him."

"To what end? Who else might need to know? Let him keep his pride."

"Yes, that is kind. He also talked about wars. Apparently Kamrasi drove some other tribes back from his borders and then withdrew. Then the Koshi drove the Maadis back to their own region, which is near Obbo country."

"And so how does this affect us?"

"Katchiba has men at their western border, and there have been some raids north of here. Where we plan to go."

"Where we must not go," Sam replied. "We cannot take that chance. We'll have to wait here a while, and map a new route, if we must."

"And that means we will not get to Gondokoro in time to take a boat."

"Yes. We are already too late. I had hopes we could enjoy our time here and move on at our leisure – no sense in being left in Gondokoro. Now it appears we have no such alternative. We are prisoners of circumstance."

"Well, then, we'll make the best of it. I can think of a number of things I can do to make us comfortable."

Sam was grateful for her calm, even optimistic response and decided not to say more. She need not know yet that, should the war continue, the village could be attacked and burned, in which case they would be lucky to escape with their lives. But he believed Katchiba would avert that catastrophe. No battles had yet come near the village, and Katchiba had already apparently intimidated or outwitted his enemies.

Hammad was back and Achmed served their dinner at a table under the trees. The good meal and some Obbo beer were welcome, and Sam took up another aspect of their situation.

"The sly old fellow crowed with pleasure when I asked if he would be offended if we raised the British flag over our dwelling. Then he asked if he might carry it when he went out to the war zone. I refused him, of course."

"Of course you did, Sam. I don't suppose it would be wise to get the Empire involved in a local war."

Florence reached across the table and put her hand on Sam's, and he understood that she anticipated the grim possibilities of being caught here and accepted them with courage.

"Our goal was hardly a reasonable one. With even the finest guides and a string of pack animals, we might not have reached Gondokoro in time. I've paid off our bearers and sent them back to their own people. We'll be here a while and are fortunate to be among friends."

"Indeed! We'll recover our health, refresh our wardrobes and lift our spirits. I'm going to mend our worn clothes and, I hope, be able to make new shirts. Can you make us some footwear?"

"I can. And I have another idea I want to work on: I think I can build a still."

"A what? What is a still?"

"A distillery, it boils fluids, reducing their essence by condensing the steam. If I get the materials I can distill alcohol, drinkable stuff. This beer is bitter, and I think I can do better."

The next day Sam gathered jugs the Obbos used for _merissa_ which they brewed from sorghum. He bored holes in several jars and from reeds he made pipettes. Meanwhile, Achmed and his helpers gathered baskets of the plentiful yams, boiled them by the potful and mashed them. In the time it took for the mash to ferment, Sam perfected his still and borrowed yeast from an Obbo brewer.

A little over a month later as their flag fluttered in the August breeze, Florence sat under a tree. The book she was reading was not the most interesting she'd read and, in fact, it puzzled her, and so she was easily distracted by distant shouts and thudding feet. Several people ran past in the direction of Katchiba's home, but one boy stopped near her and asked where he could find Sam.

"What do you need? What's happening?"

"Traders. They look for Sam."

Florence was not sure where Sam had gone or even how long he had been away, but she rose, left her book on a chair, and looked for Achmed, who also seemed to have gone somewhere.

"What do you need Sam for?"

"Here is Ibrahim," the boy said, and pointed to a man coming toward them carrying a great leather pouch.

Ibrahim hailed Florence, and just then Sam arrived with a pole and a string of fish.

"Ibrahim! You're in time for Florence's birthday dinner."

"I am happy for that. I have an appetite that will do justice to your Nubian's fine cooking."

Ibrahim explained that Kamrasi's people knew only that you had gone to the lake. When Ibrahim had got back to Gondokoro with his ivory, Koorshid Aga also arrived from Khartoum, bringing Sam's mail.

"Petherick sent it along. He said there was always 'the off-chance that Baker had made it back to Gondokoro.' Koorshid told me to take it and find you. Then I heard that in Obbo, a white man flew the British colors over his tent."

"Damned good piece of work."

"Not at all. I knew if Sam Baker were dead, he'd have taken the flag to his grave and, who knows, maybe to Christian heaven!"

The pouch Ibrahim laid at Sam's feet held copies of _The Illustrated London News_ and _Punch_ and a few letters, though none from Sam's family. He also brought packets of quinine, lengths of Egyptian cotton, and seven bottles of Spanish sherry. He left them to their mail and said he'd return at dinner time.

After they had eaten dinner and while Hammad was serving their coffee, he asked permission from Sam and Ibrahim to return to Ibrahim's safari. He said he wanted to hunt ivory again, and Achmed had generously agreed that Hammad belonged with his own people. Ibrahim said that he was delighted to have him rejoin his train.

"But right now I know it is time to take my leave, with my profound respect and thanks for my host and hostess. Salamat!"

* * *

"Send me to talk with your enemy," Sam said to Katchiba.

"Fowooka was not always my enemy, but now he makes trouble. If I send you to Fowooka, you will tell him I say that he is responsible for war and he will pay for what happens to any who attack my people."

"I will try."

"I think and decide and tell you the time to go."

While Sam waited to hear from Katchiba, he recorded the details of Obbo daily life. He made carefully detailed drawings of dwellings and furnishings as well as of people, describing their braided hair, plumed war bonnets, fringed leather aprons, and metal neck and arm bracelets. The women, nearly naked and well-formed, he noted, and pleasing to watch and to picture. He wrote that, except for the Nubians, the Obbos were the handsomest of African tribes, and cited in particular their glossy skin that bore no ritual scars. When Florence pointed out that he had drawn them wearing aprons that hid their glossy pubic hair, he reminded her that he knew the British public better than she did.

The time passed. Sam's beer turned out well enough that he decided to include the recipe and directions for distilling it in his journal. It was a flavorful brew that he would offer to Ibrahim though it was against their religion, but before he and his men departed, he tasted it and declared it a fine thirst quencher. Sam became convinced his brew was more effective for curing fever than either his own medicines or the Obbos' herbs.

Florence sewed new shirts and trousers for them both from the cotton fabric Ibrahim had brought, and she also made Achmed two new gallabiahs. Sam hunted and tanned the hides and made boots for Florence and himself and sandals for Achmed and his new helper, the boy they called Sahba, which meant friend. They made good use of their time and regained their strength, and they were eager to be on their way.

When two months had passed without a disaster and without any news of fighting, Katchiba sent for Sam and accepted his offer to take the tribe's peace plan to the Maadis. Sam told Florence that this would give him the chance to judge how safe it would be for them to travel.

Katchiba gave Sam's peace mission a grand send-off with an ox, garlanded with blossoms and aromatic leaves, for Sam to ride and another for Richarn, who carried the Union Jack. To show power without belligerence, the escort of twelve warriors carried spears but no shields and wore no war bonnets. They, however, wore side arms.

Sam and Richarn, Sam found Chief Katchiba's enemies in a state of disarray.

They were easily convinced of Katchiba's wish for peace and glad to cooperate by accepting all Katchiba's terms. The entire mission took two weeks, and Sam returned with the promise of peace and sacks of tobacco.

Katchiba announced the victory and told Sam he was free to leave. In gratitude the chief gave them six oxen to carry their equipment, six donkeys and plentiful provisions. Now not only Florence and Sam might ride in comfort, but so could Achmed, Sahba, Richarn, and Saat.

They set out in December, taking a route Sam now saw as safe and more direct than the way they had come. By going straight north, they would avoid the mountains that had slowed their trek southward journey. Sam felt sure that in a week they would reach the Nile's banks halfway between the two cataracts he knew to be to the south of Gondokoro.

"This time we'll make it, Florence, we'll easily be in Gondokoro when the boats arrive. We shall count on sailing swiftly down to Khartoum."

### Chapter 28

With their own eight men driving the oxen and guided by two Obbos, the caravan headed north-northwest in the foothills of the Maadi range where the Assua was a lazy stream, unlike the torrent they'd crossed in spring. Its basin had widened and its grassy banks shaded by the dark leaves of the tamarind trees made their route pleasant for walking.

One morning a wild pig ran out of the grass, and Sam caught it, and that evening Achmed roasted it on a spit. Since it was nearly Christmas time, the feast seemed particularly appropriate to Sam. He reminisced about seeing a roast pig with an apple in its mouth being carried aloft by two servants.

"There were always at least a dozen persons seated at every meal at our table, and on the sideboard, a wheel of Stilton and a red ball of Edam, bowls of nuts, and, of course, cut glass decanters of sherries and port."

"Very festive. I don't remember that Christmas dinners were so important in my early life. Later, when I went to bed hungry, I dreamed about streusels and oranges."

"Dreams are made of memories, so I'm glad you had good ones, as well as those others."

"I know you've seen too much of my bad dreams, but I seldom have them now, you know."

"It's good to know that, too. I've admired your natural optimism, and it's part of your strength."

"It's only because of you, Sam. You rescued me and made life full and secure again."

"We, Florrie, we made this life together a good one."

As the valley narrowed and the Assua's banks became steep and rocky, the trail rose to a notch in the hills. From the top of the pass they could look down the valley and see, twenty miles distant, the Nile itself glittering in the sun. There was a clear trail that gradually dropped 200 feet and led to the river bank. There seemed to be no more need for guides, and Sam gave the Obbos their pay and sent them back to Katchiba.

In the coming days, they would follow the Nile to Gondokoro, a distance Sam calculated to be little more than a hundred miles in a straight line. However, he didn't know how many bends the river would take or what barriers the land might offer. It was the route by which Speke and Grant had reached Gondokoro, and it had taken them more than a month. However, Speke and Grant had been exhausted, and at that time had to skirt Arab traders who were battling Bari tribesmen over their refusal to tote ivory. Since now Sam didn't expect trouble, and Baris had once served them well, he believed they could cover the distance in much less time than Speke had.

They were able to follow a level route parallel to the river for about fifty miles, but then the trail narrowed. The Nile roiled through rapids and into a canyon so steep and rugged it left no passage for the caravan. They had to turn east and go around the rocky hills and make their way north out of sight of the river. After two days they heard the roar of the cataract and soon saw the river roaring out of the canyon. It raced around massive boulders for another half mile before it broadened and smoothed into a steady flow. Convinced that his information was accurate, he said there would not be another cataract before Gondokoro.

And he was right. No more river bends or rugged terrain slowed their progress, and the men grew jubilant.

To prepare for their arrival in Gondokoro, Saat and Richarn bound poles together to make a long, straight one on which they could carry the flag high as they rode in. Sam and Florence speculated about the settlement and the sort of welcome they might expect. When they sighted masts of vessels at anchor and passed Bari kraals, Sam permitted Richarn and Saat fire off their arms. Achmed laughing with tears on his cheeks shouted his thanks to God:

" _Alhamdul' Allah_."

Two years had passed since their departure, and a semblance of civilization had crept south to the outpost. New warehouses gave evidence the outpost was a major depot for an ivory trade that grew as slaving became less profitable. And the squatters' foul den on the outskirts of the settlement was now orderly; sturdy houses and shops stood within a neat, well-built stockade.

Koorshid Aga, mounted on a fine horse, met them with a great toothy smile and eyes bright with tears. He declared he'd always known they would return and never credited rumors of Sam's death. He trusted Allah to recognize good people and to bring them back.

"But that is not the case in general, not here nor in Khartoum," he told them. "You have been given up for dead by all who understood the hazards of your mission. The consul sent no more mail from Khartoum after the bundle Ibrahim brought you."

Not only was there no word from the outside world, but no fresh supplies or boats awaited the Bakers' return. The world had given up hope, holding the view they had met warring savages or fatal disease. A very few believed the Bakers may have gone to Zanzibar, but nobody in Khartoum believed they would return, not even Petherick.

Thus he had not sent the boat and supplies for which Sam had left instructions and money.

This was not at all what they had hoped for, not close to what they'd dreamed. Sad and disappointed, Sam took Florence's hand and led her to the bank of the river where they tried to console one another with talk of new possibilities.

"Was it all worth it, Florrie? Have I overrated our mission and our success? Have we wasted our efforts?"

"No, Sam, no, don't dismiss what we have done. Don't ever doubt the value of our experiences!"

"Comorro asked me, 'Why have you given so much time to finding a lake, what good is it to you? If the large river flows from it, what does it matter?' And I thought his questions were simple-minded."

"You said he had no imagination. He couldn't see the power of a mystery and of centuries of fables and dreams. Please, Sam dearest, don't grieve. This is, after all, just another setback. And it's only Gondokoro."

"You're not sorry?"

"For what? We've had good things happen to us, so many good times. We felt the mystery and the beauty of it and will again."

When Sam told Koorshid they needed a boat, any boat, as soon as possible, Koorshid looked grave.

"You must take care you don't get one of the plague boats that carried Blacks from Khartoum and Atbari. The government has been seizing captives and sending them home. When fever broke out, they abandoned the effort and dumped captives, many right here. I have but one dahabiah here waiting to take out ivory, but what with tribal wars, little ivory has arrived, and you are welcome to it. However, it too, may have been contaminated. I cannot vouch for those who brought it in."

"I'll take it. Just help me find some good workers."

Within a day workers, wearing scarves to cover their noses and mouths, carrying torches of tobacco leaves and camphor boughs, walked through cabins and holds fumigating them with herb torches. "An exorcism," Sam called it. They drenched the decks and bulkheads with boiling water, scoured them with sand, and left all the ports open to dry the boat.

In the week that it aired, plague took hold in Gondokoro, and soon its victims were being carted or dragged to bluffs below the town and shoved into the river. Koorshid had their equipment from his warehouse delivered along with the supplies his idled traders wouldn't need, and they stocked the dahabiah.

Sam and Florence thanked their friend and said goodbye.

" _Allah yessallemak_ ," Koorshid said, "May God keep you well."

* * *

The boat moved rapidly with a current so strong that their sails filled only now and then, when the wind shifted. Gliding downstream, Sam had the leisure to consider how he would prepare his journals for publication. He had expected they would close with the discovery of the lake, but now he saw that the duration and difficulty of the way back should not be overlooked.

He looked forward to discussing this with Speke, who by now must have published his own journals. He thought of the thrill of making it all public, and in particular, of the moment he would reveal to the Royal Society that he named the great waterfall for the director. He even allowed himself the vanity of thinking he might have earned a knighthood.

As for Florence's rewards, Sam imagined her in elegant clothes as she received guests at Sandford Orleigh or in London, being presented to Queen Victoria and, should he be knighted, becoming Lady Florence Baker. He was now certain she would be happy in England, welcomed and adored by his daughters and brothers.

Now as they sat on the upper deck, he studied her lovely face framed by her golden hair. Engrossed as she was in the passing scenery, Florence seemed barely aware of his presence, but then she called his attention to a bird winging over the water. Watching the flash of brilliant plumage, Sam realized how much time he devoted to measuring distances and plotting routes. He had almost forgotten to count Africa's beauty among their discoveries.

When solid banks and open grasslands made it possible, Sam went ashore with Richarn and Saat to look for a waterbuck, with its graceful horns, but more often they found geese and guinea fowl. It wasn't difficult to provide a steady supply of meat for Achmed to cook in the well-furnished galley, and when they got to a small market town, he went ashore to buy spices. He and Sam even found even a nanny goat to bring aboard for milking.

In a short while they saw signs they were near the Sudd and recalled how it swallowed the river's banks and stranded their three boats in mud and floating flora. This time, Koorshid had promised, it would be different, for a channel had been dug all the way to the Ghazal river to making it possible to navigate through the vast swamp. The Nile was still at flood, and they were traveling with the current, watching for a sign of the reported channel, and hoping it would get them through the Sudd.

The river widened and slowed as the dahabiah approached a peculiar structure of rough wooden trusses which marked the entrance to a canal of parallel wooden walls. On the outside the walls were partially supported by the muddy banks of the river, and between them, the river was forced into the channel. It was hardly wider than the hull of their dahabiah and to one side of the entrance lay the wreckage of at least one boat that did not make it into the channel but had rammed its prow into the mud.

On the other side a barge lay half sunken in reeds and mud. Both had been abandoned, and on shore Dinka men salvaged all they could from the one with its prow in the mud.

One of the Dinkas hailed Sam to let him know he should keep moving, which seemed obvious, though it wasn't possible to see what had wrecked the other boats. Then the Dinkas' pointing out nearby mounds made it clear that these were graves, presumably of slaves who had died of the plague on their way back home. In the canal, the water was deep but the current slow.

Some clumps of vegetation and splintered wood floated in the water, and the crewmen fended it away from their hull with poles. After taking depth soundings, Sam had the crew bring sacks of corn from the hold and hand them over to the Dinkas, thus raising their keel and making progress steady.

Within another day they were out of the canal, and waters of the Ghazal River flowed in, strengthening the current, and as the river bent eastward, they raised the sail and further increased their speed. The old boat seemed to almost skim over the water and amazed them all.

A knock on the door of their cabin awoke Sam, and he slipped quietly out into the pale yellow light of the lantern hanging at the end of the corridor. Saat stood, wide-eyed and trembling, and he mumbled the message. Men were ill, at least three of them were moaning and saying their heads hurt and chests felt ready to burst. Others who awoke had taken their blankets up to the foredeck. Sam picked up a jug of water in the galley and followed Saat back to the men's quarters. He asked if any of them had seen vermin, and none had. He sent all and who were not ill to sleep on deck and poured water for the sick men.

Back in his quarters, he scanned his medical book, searching futilely for a way to relieve the symptoms. By morning one man was coughing blood, and others had swellings in their groins and armpits. All were obviously in pain, twitching and writhing with leg cramps. Sam had nothing to give them to ease their misery but promised herb tea that Florence was brewing in the galley.

To those not afflicted, he administered calomel in the faint hope of purging their systems of any poisons.

In the galley, Sam found Florence had also made some herbal poultices and had told Achmed and Sahba they must stay in the galley or their own nearby cabin and not go near the crew's quarters. All day, able men worked in silence while the sick grew sicker. The next morning, one was dead and another dying, but the third seemed to be feeling a little better. Since no others complained of any symptoms, Sam concluded that recovering as well as warding off the disease must depend entirely on their constitutions. Late in the day they dropped anchor, and he sent two healthy and strong men ashore to dig graves. After sundown he and a few volunteers took the bodies ashore and gave the men a decent burial.

Three days passed with no more men becoming ill, and hopes rose that the danger had passed. However, the next morning Saat remained on his blanket, wracked by fever and bouts of coughing. As the day's heat increased he mumbled and groaned as he dragged himself to the rail. Sam saw him coughing up blood, and a minute later he scrambled over the side and dropped into the water before Sam could reach him.

Sam grabbed a rope and while he was knotting it into a loop called out to Richarn. Bracing himself on the ledge outside the rail, he dropped the loop onto the water in front of Saat, but the boy didn't appear to notice it. Sam handed the end of the rope to Richarn and, jumping into the water, Sam managed to slip the loop under the boy's arms, and the two got Saat aboard.

Florence had not taken her eyes off Sam, but when Saat lay trembling on the deck, she called to Achmed to bring a cot to a shaded part of the deck. While Sam stripped Saat and himself, she went below to find Sam's dry clothes and a nightshirt for Saat.

"When you've got into these clothes, leave the wet ones in the laundry tub. I'll see to Saat."

She knew her peremptory tone started Sam, but she dared not betray the least hesitancy.

"Florence, this is madness," Sam said. "I order you to stay away from him."

"No. Neither you nor Saat abandoned me when I was ill, and I am going to do whatever I can for Saat now."

"This is different. It's a plague. It's fatal!"

"Any disease can be fatal if nobody looks after you. And you and Richarn have enough to handle."

"You must not expose yourself to infection," Sam said, and then pled in a softer tone, "Be sensible, Florence."

"I am being sensible. We all may have been in contact with the cause of this disease, and who knows if one of us will be next? I'm no more likely to be ill if I look after Saat than if I hide in my cabin."

She sat down on a nail barrel and asked Achmed to bring a basin of water and a canteen of drinking water. Sam and Richarn went below, to follow instructions, she hoped. Achmed had set up the cot and now brought her a comfortable chair.

Florence stayed beside Saat, bathing his face and reading to him in a soft voice, which he sometimes seemed to hear. When it was necessary to leave his side, she removed her outer clothes and scrubbed herself with strong soap before taking her own meal. She took a short nap in the evening and sat at his side through half the night, at which time he went to sleep and she went to her bed for a few hours. At daybreak Florence resumed her vigil beside the thin form under the sheet. When the sun rose higher and sounds of the work crew reached the upper deck, Saat did not stir, and laying her hand on his, she realized he was dead.

They were near the place where they had buried Johann, and Sam and Richarn and two diggers took the body of the seventeen year-old boy to a grave high above the water line and under a mimosa tree. Sam spoke a few words about Saat as a steadfast and loyal friend to them all, and Richarn spoke sorrowfully of plans he and Saat had made for the future working together in Cairo.

That evening while Achmed was cooking, Florence asked him whether he would return to his people when the venture was ended.

He said he wanted to visit his parents and sisters and his many cousins in Nubia. He hoped that then he and Sahba could remain in Upper Egypt and work in a hotel in Luxor. Florence said she would see that he could go home as soon as they reached a place near Nubia.

An east wind picked up and freshened the air, and no new cases broke out. The dahabiah scudded along on a swift current, and the days passed in easy routines. Yet Sam expressed his impatience, saying he couldn't wait to reach Khartoum, he said.

"How would you feel about a day aboard a camel?"

"A day soon? Where?"

"If we could hire a pair of camels, we could travel faster than the boat. Richarn could bring it to Khartoum."

"How fast, how long?" Florence hesitated at the very thought of leaving the boat for a camel ride.

"Entirely possible we could do it in one day."

"And where are the camels?"

"Out of sight at present."

Earlier in the day a camel train had passed heading north, laden with cane and dates, and it had given Sam an idea. If the train stopped at Renko, he might negotiate for a pair of camels.

In the evening when the dahabiah dropped anchor at the market town, Sam immediately rowed the dinghy ashore alone, saying he'd be back in time for dinner.

Florence smiled and opened her palms in a gesture of helplessness, and Achmed laughed. As she waited on deck, she thought about the Consulate and seeing the Pethericks again, and perhaps seeing Ferasha. Could the woman still be there, serving Consul Petherick and his wife? If she and the Arab woman should meet, what would they say to one another? Her reverie was halted abruptly by Sam's shouts as he paddled along side the dahabiah.

"We shall ride a pair of handsome camels!"

"Indeed. And are they good-natured as well?"

### Chapter 29

Khartoum Again, March 1865

Sam put Richarn in charge of the dahabiah and warned him not to allow visitors on board and to keep the crew on board until he returned.

Sam spoke to the men, saying it was important for them all to remain during the offloading because he knew they could be trusted. He told them he understood their desire to see their families, but warned that a plague still raged in the city.

Sam helped Florence onto the camel, tapping on its knees with his riding crop, the signal to rise. Then he took her hand and asked if she remembered the camel rides in Abyssinia.

"How your eyes shone as we raced ahead of the caravan!"

She touched her finger to her lips, then to his, and he leaned his forehead against her knee and sighed.

With food, drink, and a bed roll behind their saddles, they rode slowly at first, then at a rapid pace. When they saw a grove of flame trees, they stopped and unpacked their lunch.

After lunch and a short rest, they were on their way again and kept a steady pace until they glimpsed the last of the sun's rays striking the minarets of Khartoum.

It was dusk as they passed through the hovels and lean-tos on the outskirts of the city, then rode between clusters of houses. At a time of day when the people usually crowded the streets and markets and filled the cafes, they saw few customers and fewer weary proprietors serving them. No men sat over their games and pipes, and no women lingered in doorways. Tattered leaflets warning of the epidemic clung to walls where they'd been plastered long ago. Yet it was not long before a gang of ragged boys appeared and surrounded them, clamoring for baksheesh and promising to take them any place in the city. Sam selected one who said he knew the way to the British Consulate.

"Then go ahead of us and tell the bowab the Bakers have returned."

By the time Sam and Florence arrived at the Consulate's gates, they were open and the staff waiting. Servants from nearby houses had heard the news, too, and stood out in the square or in doorways to stare at the fair haired woman riding a camel. The Pethericks, however, had gone back to Great Britain, leaving only staff to look after grounds and house. Several remembered the Bakers, and all knew about them and how the Consul had worried about their long absence. But having had a slender hope for their safe return, he had instructed the staff to make them welcome should they arrive while he was away.

The secretary displayed his delight in the role of host, ordering half a dozen servants to take the guests to their former quarters and provide for all their needs. When they were left alone in their quarters, Sam swept Florence into his arms and danced her in circles around the room. Then, breathless, they dropped their garments on the floor and bathed together in the huge bath tub.

In the morning Sam picked up a card left by a French man named Serge Delorme, who returned while they still sat at the table over cups of cafe au lait and amid stacks of papers and letters.

"I feel as if I know you, though I had not expected to meet you." Delorme said. "Louis Ronsard, my dear friend, is away at present, but this morning I shall send him word of your return and report, I assume, that you are both well. Nearly everyone, I regret to say, accepted rumors as truth, but you appear unscathed by the rigors you must surely have endured."

"Yes, quite, thank you," Sam said, and signaled the safragi to bring coffee. "Then Louis has left Africa?"

"Yes, on a visit to France, I believe. And Marcel is away, too. You knew him, the archeologist?"

"Indeed, we often dined together," Sam said.

"Meeting you gives me great pleasure, and I shall feel it my privilege to serve you in any way I can while you are here."

"We are certain to need your advice and happily accept the offer," Sam said.

"Very well. I'll leave you now to settle in, but you must promise to dine with me tomorrow at eight."

It was late afternoon when Sam returned from the wharf and the warehouses where he'd talked with Koorshid Aga. Upstairs he found Florence asleep on a chaise near the open doors to their balcony. Her head rested on the curved back of the chaise, and her hair fell almost to the tiles and moved slightly as a gentle breeze dried it. He was glad he hadn't called out to her as he often did when returning to her, and he gazed at her and thought he might well be seeing a romantic painting. Her multi-colored silk robe fell away from her throat and shoulder, and the tilt of her head revealed her perfect profile.

He hoped he wouldn't disturb her as he hurried to bathe and put on a thick cotton robe. He vigorously toweled his hair and beard and wondered is he could find a decent barber. When he opened the door, she still had not moved, and he walked barefoot across the bedroom and bent over her. At his touch, she opened her eyes and murmured his name. As he lifted her and carried her to the bed, feeling her flesh against his bare chest was almost unbearable. He laid her on the bed, and as he untied her sash and opened the robe, she arched her back, lifting herself to him. "Wait, Florrie. Though I've never wanted you more than I do now, I want to look at you. How long has it been since we've had so much privacy and time?"

"I'm too thin," she said as he traced her hip bone with his finger tips.

He shook his head and continued his caresses as she lifted her arms and drew him down to her.

That evening Sam read aloud news from the stack of papers and letters more than a year old.

"Word here from my daughters and my sister, and from James and John, even from Val. Not one of them believed the rumors. They knew we would return home."

"How happy they will be to get word, can you send a message that will get there before you – we – do?"

"When you and I, we, reach the Red Sea or Cairo, I can send them a telegram."

He handed her the letters and picked up a French edition of Speke's _Journal of Discovery of the Sources of the Nile_. Turning the pages slowly, he admired detailed tables of scientific data and the index.

"The man wasn't much of a botanist, but he kept track of every animal dead or alive."

"And are you mentioned?"

"Don't know yet."

He perused an appendix which told of Speke's having donated botanical specimens to the Hooker Herbarium. Then turning a page, he was confronted by an editor's note framed within a black border.

"Good God, Florence, he's dead! The publisher's note says Speke died in a hunting accident outside of Bath on September sixteenth, 1864, almost nine months ago! I shall have to go through these papers, see if the news is in any of them."

They had been in Khartoum three days before the dahabiah docked, by which time, Sam had learned the extent of the dire conditions in the entire region. His first business had been to try to keep his crew on the boat and isolated from the general population. Hundreds of captured blacks in transport back to their villages had died, and continued to die in the crowded alleys of Khartoum. Typhus and bubonic plagues had killed ninety percent of the four thousand soldiers charged to maintain what civil order they could, and the city was in more than its usual disarray.

Even before the plague, two years of drought had brought rampant suffering, destroying crops and businesses. New shoots burned at their roots or withered on their stalks or vines. What little grain did grow rotted on the barges, which could not float down to Khartoum's market because the Blue Nile was no more than three feet deep. In the ensuing famine, the camels kept for transport and the cattle raised for food either starved or died of diseases. All of Soudan was in ruins.

"When I meet with the crew and see to the boat, I don't want you to come with me," Sam told Florence. "The less we are in the streets the better. The only good news is that this year there has been rain in Abyssinia and Eritrea, and the Blue Nile is rising. With luck, it will feed the White Nile enough to make it navigable. It will be a long time before this region recovers, but for us, it means we might sail through the cataracts to Berber."

"But I worry about your going out there every day."

"Delorme is sending his driver with a calash. I'll take care to avoid contagion."

* * *

For two months they waited in Khartoum for the Blue Nile's flood to reach the White Nile. It was the hottest time of the year, and a time of desert winds. The khamsin blasted the city with sand, and Sam wore a keffiyeh on his headgear, pulling it across his nose and mouth, when he had to go out daily to direct the transfer of their supplies from the dahabiah and Koorshid's warehouse to a mooring where he had rented a smaller boat.

Florence kept to the house, where servants fought the sand by daily mopping, dusting, and polishing. She recognized none of them as having been serving here during their previous time at the consulate; she wondered if Ferasha might still be somewhere in the house and was keeping out of Florence's sight on purpose.

One day she chose to ask the friendliest of the boys if he knew Ferasha; he did not even recognize the name. She tried again with a servant who looked older, but the result was no different. In a way, she felt relieved.

On days when the winds didn't blow, she walked in the gardens and sat on the terrace, where from time to time, she tried again to read the book Adrianna had given her. The stories were short, for which she was grateful, but she was impatient and blamed her poor command of French for her inability to grasp their point.

One calm afternoon while Sam was there and sat near her writing in his journal, Florence envied him his concentration. She closed her book and looked at the flowers and trees, then laid the book on the table between their chairs and took the water pitcher into the house. When she returned with fresh water, Sam picked up her book.

"You've been at this one a long time, Florence. You find it tiresome?"

"My French is not up to it, and well, yes, it is tiresome to try so hard with so little effect."

"I don't recall how it got into our collection."

"Adrianna gave it to me. She said it was for a time when I might feel discouraged. But when I felt that way, our books were in Gondokoro. Or maybe I wasn't sufficiently discouraged. When I was ill I couldn't have held it, let alone concentrated on it."

"Then why go on? Surely Adrianna would understand your giving up."

"If it were in English, I would have more reason to try. Do you know this Balzac or his stories?"

"I do."

"What do you think? Are they amusing or instructive? Are we to laugh? Or take from them a lesson? Nobody in it behaves well, and I wonder if it is a criticism of them or if this is how the writer perceives all people."

"You don't find the antics of these people amusing?"

"Should I? They are so empty-headed I cannot. They are terrible people, no feeling or kindness in them, just preening and posing and being deceitful."

"Yes, the stories are about human frailties."

"Then God help us! I can't think why Adrianna gave it to me. If I were discouraged or unhappy, these tales would not make me feel any better."

"Perhaps she thought you took things too seriously."

"Things like making love? Well, I do!"

"And so do I, my dearest."

Late in July, they boarded the small steamer with Achmed, Sahba, Richarn, and Zeneb, a Dinka woman he had married in Khartoum, and four of the crew who wanted to go farther north. As it passed between the basalt cliffs north of the city, the Nile deepened and provided swift passage. As they were making ten to twelve miles an hour above the sixth cataract, they passed skeletons of boats wrecked on the rocks, and the erratic winds forced their boat onto a sand bank.

After a jolt that knocked Florence against a bulkhead, the boat rolled sideways and settled at an angle against the bank. Not knowing what might be next, she found a place on the high side of the deck and clung to the rail. She could see Sam and the crew and knew she wasn't the only one who couldn't swim and feared some of the crew might panic. However, Sam immediately set them to work, crawling out onto the banks with heavy cables to be used if they all had to abandon ship. Then for five hours crewmen hauled on tow lines and shoveled sand away from the hull.

Finally, the steamer floated free and upright. They fired up the boiler enough to make the steering mechanism work while the current took them through the rapids.

Florence looked on, not letting go of the rail, and recalled their exhilarating passage through the first cataract. This one was called the sixth cataract, counting from downstream, and now she knew they might face at least two more before Berber. This one wasn't dangerous enough to force them to leave the river, and she was enjoying the ride on the plunging boat, even if it was less wild than the first.

Once again in smooth water, Sam gave Richarn the helm and sent other men down to caulk any cracks in the hull, promising they'd go ashore in a few days when they reached Shendi market. When they passed the mouth of the Atbara River, it swelled the Nile and bore them swiftly toward the wharf and the end of their time on the river.

Florence remembered well the Berber market, where they had camped after the harrowing eighteen-day trek across the Nubian desert. It had been the middle of June 1861, and near their camp on the river banks, trees had burst into bloom overnight.

"What shall we do, Florence? If we go by caravan to the Red Sea, we can travel by boat and then take a train to Cairo. Or we can go back the way we came."

"If only we could go all the way down the Nile! But I don't want to cross that desert route again. How does the route to the Red Sea compare?"

"It's not quite as long, and it's a well-traveled trade route. I'm told there are oases."

"And you rather prefer it?"

"Unless you're set on the Nile."

Several days later, when all arrangements had been completed for their caravan to Souakim, Florence stood beside Sam in the caravansary as they parted with most of their crew.

"The camel drivers are ready at any time we choose to start." Sam said, "Just a few of our men will go with us."

"They're not all men, now, Sam. Richarn's wife might now be considered a crew member."

"I didn't mean to leave her out, but she doesn't draw attention. Wherever Richarn goes, she will go."

"Yes, of course," Florence smiled at the familiar phrase. "And you know what Achmed and Sahba plan to do?"

"I do. Achmed tells me they will join a caravan that will pass near the Kurkur Oasis. I've given him a bit more than his accumulated wages, which will be useful while he establishes himself."

"You know he wants to be a cook in Luxor. But, oh, how I shall miss him!"

"I know, and I shall, too. I suggested that he find Lady Duff-Gordon, if she is still in Luxor. I gave him a letter."

"She's someone you know?"

"We met once. A consumptive, she came to Egypt for her health. She loved the place and the people and built a house in Luxor, but I don't believe she was there when we were."

Achmed and Sahba were the last of their people to approach them at the caravansary, and Sam stepped forward to shake hands. "Achmed, you have been our finest man, and we shall remember you always."

"Thank you, sir, and I, too, shall remember. And I thank you for your generosity."

"You have been my friend, Achmed, as well as a fine cook and servant," Florence said. " _Allah yessallemak_."

"Oh, Madam, you most certainly will come back to Africa. When you do, you must come to Nubia." Achmed's eyes filled with tears.

Florence took the gold chain from around her neck and fastened it around Achmed's so that the tiny gold ankh gleamed just below his brown collarbone.

"Until then, this will remind you of us."

Achmed bowed deeply to each of them, then turned quickly and, followed by his friend, strode through the busy grounds.

Florence watched until his straight, slender figure in white turban and gallabiah blended into the throng, and then with tears in her eyes took Sam's hand.

"He'll do well, my dear, and when we come back to Egypt, we shall find him ensconced in the kitchen of Luxor's finest hotel."

### Chapter 30

In a caravan made up of twelve camels with three drivers and their two servants, Richarn and Zeneb, Florence and Sam set out on the trade route to the Red Sea. Unlike the Sahara's shifting sands, this desert floor was coarse and hard-packed sand with loose gravel between rigid rocky outcrops.

The oases were few and offered sparse shade beneath scraggly palms. The springs offered brackish water, unfit to drink but good enough for washing cooking equipment and themselves. Sam made sure their water bags carried to be enough for drinking and cooking until they reached the mountain range.

Richarn and Zeneb talked eagerly about their new life. This caravan to the sea was an adventurous beginning for the work they expected to find in Cairo or Alexandria. Richarn's accumulated pay would keep them secure until they found jobs where they could work happily together, using Richarn's varied skills and Zeneb's cooking skills. Her experience in the kitchen of the French consulate had not prepared her for desert campfires, however, and Richarn stood ready to help her. The meals she made were simple, for Sam had sold off all but a few pots and pans and wash basins.

"Of course I kept our precious rugs," Sam commented, as they set up lean-tos and unpacked bedrolls on the first night. "We're not going to rough it."

"I look forward to sleeping under the stars," Florence said.

Although again she adjusted easily to the camel's rolling gait, she found the days monotonous and tiring. The sun's heat baked through her sheer wool burnoose and cotton blouse, and dry winds strafed any exposed flesh. Her eyes were protected from both sand and glare by new gogglers with smoked lenses that wrapped around her face. She had bought them in Shendi Market along with a gauzy cotton scarf and a pair of gloves.

In six days of travel, they had met but one caravan heading west and had seen no other travelers in the small oases where they'd stopped. Now, they approached what they hoped was their last desert stop, an oasis the drivers promised would have good water and enough shade for real comfort. However at the day's end when they came in sight of the canopy of trees, several men were lounging in the shade with their camels kneeling nearby.

One by one, the men stood and watched them come, and then one, an Arab in a filthy burnoose stepped out of the shade and tried to wave them away. Sam dismounted, carrying his furled parasol, and Richarn joined him. They walked toward the surly looking man, and Sam raised his hand in greeting.

" _Saeeda, saheb_ , we've stopped to rest."

" _Emshi! Rooh!_ "

The shouted order to go away was as crude and mean as the man's visage, but Sam chose to speak softly.

"Why do you insult us? On the desert no man turns away another, nor denies water and shade to a weary band of travelers. We need only space enough to lay our carpet in the shade."

The Arab snarled that the oasis was too small, there was no room. He reached under his cloak and when he withdrew his hand, Richarn saw a blade flash and reached for his sidearm. In that instant, Sali, the head camel driver, rode forward and, with his whip, sent the knife flying from the man's hand. Sam shouted so everyone could hear.

"Hold! We need no arms!" Then firmly but quietly he spoke to the Arab.

"You would be wise to be civil."

"Sam! Watch out behind you!" Florence yelled.

Sam turned and saw a second man had slipped around and was almost behind him with a large sword in both hands. Before he could raise it, Sam lunged and thrust the tip of his umbrella against the man's chest, knocking him flat on his back and gasping for his breath. When Sam turned back the first man was bending to retrieve his knife, and Sam swung the umbrella with such force that the Arab tumbled over. The umbrella's pole had snapped and left Sam holding a short, jagged shaft.

By then Richarn had picked up the knife and a second of their drivers had taken the clumsy sword and was brandishing it in the faces of the three men who had remained in the shade of the trees. Florence rode closer with the Fletcher in hand, but none of the Arabs did more than glare. The will to fight had gone out of them but not their anger.

"You are a disgrace to humankind," Sam said, "and deserve to be flogged."

Hearing that, one pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal his white hair and knelt in front of Sam to beg for mercy. Richarn had taken Sali's whip and stood ready to use it, but Sam put a hand on his arm.

"I will listen to this man because he is old and may retain some sense and even a bit of human decency." Then turning to the Arabs, he said, "We will leave your weapons in Souakim. You may claim them at the caravansary. Now be off!"

The Arabs gathered their rugs and led their camels away. Before they were out of sight, Zeneb had filled a water kettle to make tea.

"They would have killed us over a patch of shade," Florence said. "Who are they?"

"I don't know. Maybe from the Hadendowa tribe that's been harassing Egyptian troops in the eastern desert. Or maybe some other renegades."

Another few days took them to the desert's edge, where a lush green oasis nestled in the foothills of the mountains that now dominated the eastern horizon. They camped among mimosas and eucalyptus near a cool, clear stream that issued from the rocks.

Florence followed it to a secluded place where she could bathe and wash her hair.

"My birthday treat," she told Sam. "A good bath. Did my laundry, too."

"Your twenty-fourth birthday was yesterday, and I forgot. How can I make it up to you?"

"Well, last year you caught fish for dinner."

"Zeneb is already cooking something that smells delicious. And soon I shall find a proper gift for you."

None of the mountain peaks reached more than four-thousand feet, and the pass was only half that high. Climbing it took them on a well-worn path through granite canyons of red and green strata. The ascent was easy and the temperature moderate, and at nightfall they found level ground, shade trees, and forage for the camels as well as grouse for Sam to shoot and Zeneb to cook.

The next day they reached the highest point and looked down on the Red Sea's brilliant blue-green waters and its pink coral shores. Their descent was quicker than the climb, but the heat built up to more than one-hundred degrees by the time they arrived at Souakim's outskirts. In the dazzling sunlight, they walked on clean, paved streets where houses were stuccoed with the coral sands. Florence remarked that it was not at all like the grim place Johann had described.

"Perhaps we'll find squalor on the waterfront," Sam said, "but here the town literally outshines any we've seen since we left the Mediterranean. Look over there. Those flags must be on houses of government. We'll head right for them."

Leaving servants and camels at the caravansary, Florence and Sam walked on to government square. At the broad steps of the largest building, they stopped to look up at its freshly painted Palladian facade.

"It fairly shouts civilization," Sam said.

As they climbed the steps, people either stared or pretended not to stare at the sight of the slight, blonde woman in trousers and the bearded man with graying hair bushing out from under a havelock cap. In the foyer, a clerk stared at them from behind his neat mahogany desk, and his jaw dropped when he heard their names. He immediately led them up another flight of polished stairs to the office of the provincial governor, who said he felt honored to meet them. He had heard rumors of their return but had never expected they would be in this place.

After stamping their papers and giving them information on ships that might soon pass through to Suez, he offered the use of his guest house until they could arrange transport.

"Your presence in our city is an honor. I hope you enjoy your sojourn, and if we can assist you in any way, well, sir, you need only ask."

A civil servant led Florence and Sam to a house overlooking the harbor. It was set in a garden where they felt the light wind off the water. It felt cool inside the house, too, with ceiling fans turning lazily. They could see it was big enough for six or eight people, and while Sam went to settle with the drivers, Florence explored the house and garden. Sam returned with the three servants, and when Zeneb saw the kitchen stove, she could barely wait to put it to use. She took Sali and went off to the market to shop for food.

After Sam had disposed of the last of their camping gear and paid off the drivers, he had nothing to do. Each day, he stood on their front terrace and scanned the harbor with his glass, hoping to see a British steamer. But only the merchant fleet of the Abdul Azziz Company entered the moorage, and he had learned that their runs between Jedda and Suez depended on consignments. For another week, they waited, and during that time, Sali found employment and, deferring his dreams of Cairo, took his pay and left.

Mornings Florence walked with Sam and on the palm-lined waterfront, and at sunset they strolled in their garden amid blooming jasmine. Richarn, proud in his new white trousers and tunic, served the dinners Zeneb had cooked. Later, when the heat was dissipating, Florence in a chemise and Sam in his drawers lay on their bed where the fan turned lazily above them moving the warm air. It was unthinkable to close the curtains against a possible evening breeze, so they waited until the street sounds faded, then made love and slept until sunlight struck the white plaster walls and street peddlers called their wares.

One evening on the veranda, Sam lifted his telescope to his eye and whooped with pleasure.

"Florrie, look here, a splendid warship is moving into a dock." He handed her the glass. "It's a frigate. Egyptian flag."

"Why would a warship dock here?"

"Oh, maybe for provisions or to bring troops."

Alone at the pier the next day, Sam saw troops disembark, and always curious, sat in a nearby cafe and talked to the ship's crew when they came ashore. They said the soldiers were bound for Kassala, and they didn't know where the ship would go. That same evening, a messenger came to the house with a note from the ship's captain. It said he'd heard that the lost explorers were in port awaiting passage, and he hoped they would honor him with their presence at dinner aboard.

"He may have seen me loitering about on the pier yesterday and was curious. News travels fast."

"It sounds grand to dine with the captain."

"Unpack your best dress. It's bound to be interesting to go aboard as well as to be entertained by Egyptian officers."

To their surprise, it was not just the officers with whom they dined. The governor and all the important members of the European and Egyptian communities were there to meet the famous explorers. Their open admiration of Florence pleased Sam, and their eagerness to listen to his tales of adventure flattered him too.

At the end of the evening, Florence and Sam and the captain, Mustapha Bey, sat on the afterdeck overlooking the glittering harbor. Their host capped the splendid evening by offering them passage on the frigate to Suez.

"We have no other mission and are about to return to base. The officers' quarters are a bit cramped, but I think we can see that you are comfortable."

"There is no need to convince us. We are eager to accept. We've waited here for three weeks without sign of a passenger ship. We can be ready in an instant."

Although the next day brought word that a British steamer was due within a week, it was already September. Sam thought the captain's company would more than compensate for whatever their quarters might lack, and of even more significance was their mounting impatience to move on. Taking along their two servants, they boarded the frigate the next morning for the five day voyage to Suez, and on each evening Sam and Florence enjoyed excellent dinners in the convivial company of the Captain and his officers.

After docking in the busy port and expressing gratitude to the Captain, they disembarked. Sam and Richarn saw to their meager baggage, and then they took a hack through the city's center to a British hotel. The stark white building stood in the midst of a walled garden, lush with purple bougainvillea, and in its spacious lobby, ceiling fans turned lazily, circulating the scent of jasmine. A moment after registering, Sam beheld his dream come true: a sign in the refreshment bar read, "Allsopp's Pale Ale, on draught." And if that were not enough to fulfill a dream, their rooms were airy and spacious, the beds soft, and the bath gleaming.

* * *

Florence wrote to Adrianna saying they'd be in Paris early in October. Sam sent James a wire telling him when they hoped to arrive in Marseilles and be on their way to Paris, and then he went out in search of news of the world. But before leaving the hotel he had a bouquet sent to the room, twenty-four red roses for Florence's twenty-fourth birthday.

The hotel's public rooms thronged with English men, many of them officers of the Crown on their way to posts in India with their fair-skinned wives. Florence recalled the couple who had dined with them in Bucharest and, while she dressed for dinner, recalled how elegant she had felt that night in her new gown. Now she felt anything but elegant. When she looked at women's hair styles and their gowns, she was stunned by the enormous changes in fashion over only five years. Everyone in the hotel must be taken aback by the sight of Sam in worn old tweeds and herself in a dress that hung, limp and shapeless, on her thin body. And also, of course, the color of her skin must appall them.

She thought of how she'd dreaded meeting the English and feared the family's disapproval of her. Now she realized her fear had faded and couldn't recall when or how it occurred. She remained certain that nobody, not even Sam's family, could ever comprehend their partnership.

* * *

Sam relished the convivial atmosphere of the hotel's public rooms and felt inclined to respond to everyone who expressed an interest in their adventure. He always had a fresh tale ready, and thought he understood when Florence slipped into the shadows and sometimes out of the room.

She had heard it all before, and he didn't take offense. However, while he had come to think of her as confident and friendly, it now occurred to him that this shyness might have more cause than the sudden press of curious people. Although he had been saddened to see her so thin, every bone visible under taut flesh, he thought her no less beautiful, but of course she would not know that. Now he saw that he ought to have understood how she must feel in old, ill-fitting clothes.

"When we reach Cairo," he told her, "we'll have a wardrobe made for you and some things for me, too. I cannot wait to see your lovely hair arranged in one of those chignons."

"I think I can manage the hair part myself, if that will please you. I don't know anything about the new fashions, but I do wish for something that fits me, and is pretty."

"In Cairo or, better still in Alexandria, dearest, we'll outfit you in style, and after you plump out a bit, we'll do it all again! You are lovely now, and always, but I want you to feel beautiful."

"Remember telling me to buy only good and beautiful things, Sam? I'll never forget that."

### Chapter 31

When the train pulled into Cairo on September tenth the Nile was still high, and in ditches and low fields stagnant water bred millions of mosquitoes. Florence and Zeneb sat in the shade near the station and fanned themselves while Sam and Richarn went to claim the baggage. The men returned with a carriage to take them all to Shepheard's Hotel.

Florence and Sam took pleasure in the young couple's wide-eyed reaction to the city and shared their hopes for a successful future there.

That same afternoon when Richarn and Zeneb emerged from an interview with the hotel manager, they reported that both had been employed as servants to the manager himself. Sam shook Richarn's calloused hand and said he regretted that they probably would never again work together. He was proud that Richarn was now competent man and independent as well as possessed of many other qualities he admired. He knew that Richarn, more than any other person, had demonstrated that Sam's convictions about the darker races were mistaken. He now understood that his judgments and condescension arose from unexamined assumptions and attitudes more-or-less bred in the bone. He wished he could explain this to Florence, who always treated every person with respect.

Having said goodbye to the last of their entourage, Sam and Florence had no wish to remain in Cairo. The concierge sent a wire to a hotel manager in Alexandria to reserve a suite for them and arranged for a courier to bring them train tickets. They left the next day, seated on the shady side of a new and clean coach, and again they watched the timeless scenes flash past the windows. Familiar but no less interesting to them were the water buffalo in the fields, young children and goats in farmyards, and boys driving loaded donkeys or riding bareback.

On their first day in Alexandria, Sam went to book passage on a steamer for Marseilles. And later that day he received a message sent by the British Consul in Cairo saying Sam had been awarded the Victoria Gold Medal. The honor had been decided on some time before anyone knew what his mission had accomplished or even if he were alive to accept the honor. It was an extremely generous show of confidence, Sam thought, and it fueled his impatience to publish his journals and prove his merit.

Meanwhile he wanted to be sure they were prepared for the new life, for circumstances bound to be more public. Sam knew that soon, wherever they went, they might encounter curiosity as well as serious interest in their adventures. He decided he must prepare Florence for this, not merely tell her about it but help her to feel confident and at ease. His first step was to see to her wardrobe, and he engaged the concierge to make appointments with dressmakers, makers of shoes and handbags, and milliners to come to their rooms for private fittings. These purveyors of the finest in women's wear could help Florence to choose whatever she liked, including a basic wardrobe suitable for travel by ship and train to Paris. Once in Paris, they could go shopping together, for he knew the places to go if not styles, and perhaps Adrianna, too, would be there to guide her. Sam had his own fittings in tailors' and cobblers' shops, and between appointments, dropped into clubs and hotel public rooms to enjoy the camaraderie of men. In bookstalls, cartographers' shops, and libraries he sought all manner of reading material and returned to their rooms laden with his purchases.

They adapted easily to the luxuries of the hotel and the fashionable city. Breakfasts on the balcony and walks on the promenade were accompanied by their uninterrupted conversation, almost as if they had just begun to know each other. All their early yearnings returned with stunning impact, reviving romance and passion that years of fatigue, illness, and privation had muted. And they were joyfully aware of their fulfillment.

The European community had learned of their return before they reached Alexandria, so Sam was only mildly surprised to receive a hand-delivered note from Louis Ronsard. He had come recently from France to his villa on the rivage and was impatient to meet with his old friends. He asked Sam to name the day and hour when he might come to their hotel and take them both to his home to dine at his table. Sam asked Florence when she would like to go, and she replied she was ready any time now that she had such lovely gowns to wear. He laughed and set a date for the next evening.

When Sam opened the door of their suite, Louis stood there, looking young, handsome, and elegant, exactly as Sam remembered him. Louis remarked in true diplomatic fashion on the changes he saw in Sam.

"Sam, dear friend, how fit you look! Africa has made you into the very image of a distinguished professor."

"Indeed, dear Louis, I am ancient and grizzled."

"Certainly not ancient! But faces reflect our experiences, and you have seen wonderful sights and have met inconceivable challenges. You look, may I say, quite imposing?"

"You see effects of time and weather and, perhaps, of the difficult times as well as the many pleasurable ones. 'Though much is taken, much abides.'"

"Sam has come to agree with me," Florence said as she entered the room, "that he does indeed have much in common with Tennyson's 'Ulysses.'"

Although waiting eagerly to see her, Louis was caught off- guard by her casual and talkative entrance. She radiated ease and warmth, and he strode across the room to kiss her hand.

"Madam Baker, Florence, you cannot imagine my delight in seeing you again!"

"And I, in finding you here, Louis. Monsieur Delorme told us you were in France."

"And so I was. I have been here some weeks, but it was only a few days ago that I learned you were actually right here in Alexandria. No one had news of you for two years or more," Louis paused and looked into Florence's eyes, "and I cannot describe my distress on hearing people discussing your possible fate, dire stories that emerged from their imaginings."

"And do you find Florence much changed, Louis?"

"Yes, Sam, I do," he said, with his eyes still on Florence.

"She has emerged from her experiences with a new presence, one might say, an air of confidence. Clearly, she has triumphed over adversity," and lowering his voice, added, "and remains a very beautiful woman."

Sam was aware of the intensity in these last words and saw Florence lift her chin to deliver a reply.

"Truly, Louis, Sam and I have enjoyed great adventures. I suppose adversity would describe a few occasions. I feel the stronger for them. The sun and years left more visible effects, too, and I don't mind in the least. We saw sights beyond any I had ever imagined. I do recall your advice to Sam in Khartoum, and while I believe it was well-meant, it was needless, as it turns out."

"And for that I am happy, too," Louis replied.

Florence's speech was longer and stronger than Sam expected, and he saw Louis look a bit dashed by its hint of reproof. Sam had once thought Louis might take Florence from him; now he knew that wasn't possible, and surely Louis knew it, too.

"So, shall we have a sherry?" Sam asked.

"It is not a long drive to my villa, so perhaps we should toast your return there."

The scents of the nutmeg trees and Poinciana wafted across the terrace, and the surf whispered in soothing cadences. In sconces on the walls and silver candelabra on the table, candle flames flickered as servants moved silently to remove and replace plates and wine glasses. Their conversation soon bridged the chasm of years since they last dined together.

Sam described their struggle in navigating the Sudd and their dismay at the sight of Gondokoro; Florence spoke of how much she enjoyed Johann's company aboard the dahabiah and of his dying all too soon. Sam described the mutinies and told of the one instigated by Ballaal, the incident from which he had omitted Florence when he wrote in his journal, but now, in particularly vivid detail, he described her brandishing his pistol to bring the men to order. It was overly dramatized, she thought, but, nevertheless, she was grateful. When Louis asked her how she felt about using a firearm, she had no recollection of thinking at all when she had done it.

"I never thought how I should or did feel about it. When it was necessary, I just did it."

Louis laughed, and shook his head.

"I see you are astonished, Louis, so I must emphasize that Florence is not a screamer."

"I never believed she would be, although I am sure she often had ample cause."

"Cause, yes, for a lesser woman. And had I known what lay ahead, I might have heeded your advice," Sam confessed, "but I didn't, and now I very much doubt I'd have reached the lake without Florence. Frequently, she saved the day and more than once, my life. She is as reliable as any man and much better company, too!"

"And even to this day, I prefer that you not talk about me as if I were not present. I feel like a child who has somehow managed to behave well."

"Very well, let us hear more from you, Florence," Louis said. "Were you ever sorry you went?"

"That is too outrageous an idea to consider. I did go. And I came back. Regret is not in my nature. We saw much that was strange, sometimes hideous or threatening yet always we saw incredible beauty everywhere in Africa."

"How about encounters with crocodiles and rhinos?"

"I preferred them to tsetse flies or puff-adders."

Florence hungrily read the books and papers Sam brought, and sometimes she lay on the chaise and savored her idleness. When Sam spoke of England and his family and wrote letters to them, she no longer felt anxious. She felt secure now in Sam's love and knew it was childish to think his love for others diminished his love for her. She could not foresee how she would behave in the company of his family, did not know what they might expect of her or how her days would be spent, yet she knew she would learn what must be learned, do what must be done. How could the future hold anything stranger than she had confronted in Africa?

One day as she hesitated on the walk beside the busy street, a calash stopped directly in front of her, and Louis Ronsard swung down to greet her with a sweeping bow. She returned his smile, recalling his splendid appearance when first he'd welcomed them to Khartoum.

"Florence! What a pleasure! I was thinking about you, wondering if I might call unannounced. Where is Sam?"

"He is writing letters. I was restless, so I came out."

"May I take you wherever it is you mean to go?"

"I don't really have a destination. I already have such a wardrobe — it's silly to buy anything more."

"Well, then, come for a drive with me."

His hand was warm on her waist as he gracefully avoided her wide skirts and guided her toward the carriage step. In a low voice he spoke to his driver, then seated himself at her side.

As they drove along the seafront, Louis turned his back on the view to look into her eyes. A breeze lifted the brim of her hat and, instead of securing it with the ribbons, she removed the flower-trimmed straw and held it on her lap.

"May I put the top down?"

"Why not? It's no use to try to look like a lady."

"But your brown face is quite stunning, my dear. You are like no one else. Must I tell you how lovely you are?"

Florence didn't reply and could not return his gaze.

"Forgive me, do I embarrass you? Why avoid my eyes?"

"I don't know why. It's not you, not your fault, you make me feel—"

"Don't stop, Florence, what do I make you feel?"

"I'm sorry – I don't know- valuable – fragile, which I certainly am not."

"Oh, my dearest, you are valuable- most exquisitely so!" His arm across the back of the seat dropped around her shoulders, and with his other hand at her waist, he gently pulled her to him. It felt natural to lift her face to his, to wonder how those smooth lips might feel. But the hunger in his eyes brought her to her right mind, and she turned her cheek.

"I cannot say what I feel, Louis. But I don't feel it is right, being so close. I must think about it."

To her relief, he sat back with a sigh and folded his arms across his chest.

They were near the end of the coast road and the gates to the viceroy's palace, where Sam had brought her on their first day in Egypt. Farther on, she realized, were the gates to Louis' villa. When the driver reined in the horse and turned to ask if he should drive on, Louis answered, no, but to stop by the sea. There, Louis put his hand on hers, and still she could not look into his eyes.

"Thank you, Louis, you are most understanding."

"We are very near my house, Florence."

His voice was deep and gentle. She looked at the sea and knew he must feel her trembling.

"I want you to be with you, Florence. Will you come to my house?"

"Oh, no, Louis. No. Don't ask that."

"Will you tell me when you are ready, when I may love you?"

"I can never tell you that, Louis. You know that."

Florence heard her own breathless refusal, heard her words sounding tentative rather than final.

He tapped the driver's shoulder, but kept her hand in his as the carriage turned back toward the hotel.

"I will wait for you tomorrow, after two o'clock at the entrance to the public garden. Please, Florence, come to me."

She couldn't look into his eyes, couldn't speak. She felt his hands lift her from the step of the calash, and she did not look back as her feet carried her through the lobby to the elevator cage. She tidied her hair, put on hat and gloves and, as she approached the door to their suite, bit her lower lip.

The room was dark and empty, and she felt momentary relief, but it soon dissolved, and she paced from room to room trying to think calmly about her feelings and the afternoon's events. She could find no starting point, no orderly way to assess her own behavior or Louis'.

How could she have allowed – or caused – Louis to behave so? How could she be so aroused by a man other than Sam? Was she an inconstant woman, vain and foolish? Had she led Louis to believe she would fall into his arms at the first chance? Did he truly care for her? She had thought him a friend – not like Johann, not one she might talk with- but Sam's friend.

Good Lord, she thought, this is as tawdry as a scene from that Balzac book. She had betrayed Sam, although he would never suspect her of such a thing. Louis' intentions must have been there all along, and that alone surely would disappoint Sam. He must never know, yet the thought of the three of them in one room was more than she could endure.

In fact, it was no use to think about it. What was done was done. She would not see Louis alone again.

She poured a sherry and went onto the balcony and breathed deeply, but the scent of Poinciana brought Louis back to her. The warm air recalled the caress of his breath on her skin, and she put down the sherry and went to the bedroom. She looked at the clock and wondered where Sam had gone and if she should order dinner. At that moment she heard a key in the lock, and a boy laden with packages preceded Sam through the door.

"Florence, my dear, I apologize for being so late. I lost track of time, and, as you see –" Sam stopped in mid-sentence to pay the boy and close the door – "I found these books. You look worried dearest, are you upset?"

"Not at all, just thinking whether to order dinner so it would be ready when you arrived. What did you bring?"

"Books. I went out to post letters, stopped in the library. Then I walked back a different way and came upon a whole street of book shops, new and old books, journals of all sorts, full of news we've yet to catch up on. Do order dinner while I wash the dust from my hands."

"Oh, Sam, I can't wait to see! It's wonderful – you are wonderful!"

Sam was on his way out of the room and could not have seen the tears that filled her eyes.

In the morning Sam took the train to Cairo to close his account at the bank and to call on the Consul who had taken so dim a view of Sam's plans for taking Florence on the expedition. When he was gone Florence sorted through the pile of periodicals and, finding little to interest her, turned to more satisfying reading. Shortly after noon, she left the room to lunch in the dining room and then to walk in the hotel gardens. The path took her near the fence, and she caught sight of Louis' calash waiting at the gates to the public gardens, where he must have a clear view of the hotel entrance. Fearing he must also be able to see her in the garden, she went as quickly as she could to a more secluded sector. But it still seemed too public a place, and she slipped through a side entrance and crossed the lobby to the lift.

She bathed in aromatic oils that soothed her, then settled herself on the balcony to dry her hair and read a novel. The orphaned Jane Eyre managed to become a governess, as she herself might have done. However, she often had to interrupt the story to open her dictionary and make sure she understood every word.

Although contexts, as well as the sounds of words like _flicker_ or _trickle_ were usually clear enough, some words demanded an exact definition, and often she felt ashamed for having forgotten her Latin. She had to look up words like _confabulate_ and _extricate_ even though she doubted anyone actually ever said _confabulate_.

A quick rap on the door broke her concentration, and she crossed the room, twisting her hair in a coil and checking the fastenings on her dressing gown.

"Who is it?"

"Please open the door, Florence."

"Louis." She opened the door just a crack and said, "Sam isn't here, as you must know."

"Please, Florence, I can't stand in the hallway."

He pressed firmly against the door and shouldered his way in. She stood back as he walked over to a table and laid his hat beside the bouquet Sam had sent up that morning.

"At least offer me a drink. I've been waiting for two hours in the hot sun."

"You ought to have realized that I didn't want to see you – and you should not be here."

She expected to see anger in his eyes but instead his face reminded her of the way Sam's had looked on the first night in Bucharest. The look spoke of a hunger she hadn't understood when Sam had chosen to walk away, when he had done so in deference to her innocence. Now, she knew she had no innocence to protect her, for she had shared Louis' desire yesterday. She hoped that if now she could be direct enough with him, Louis might honor her commitment to Sam and walk away.

"Louis, listen to me. When we first met, you may have thought things were not right with Sam and me, perhaps that I wasn't being treated fairly.

But you were wrong and that was a long time ago. Sam and I are happy together, and I have never considered any other way to live. I didn't mean to let you think otherwise. I don't understand my momentary impulse, but it did not mean I would betray Sam. All I can do now is ask you to accept my apology."

Hoping to hide her agitation, she walked to the French doors and adjusted the shutters.

"Florence, at this moment, the sun is silhouetting your body and setting your golden hair on fire. You are more desirable than you can imagine. It's impossible for you not to attract me. You cannot blame yourself for being beautiful."

"You must leave."

"Please, not yet, Florence. I'm not a beast – I won't force myself on you. May we sit and talk?"

Calm but wary, Florence gestured toward a chair and seated herself on the far side of a low table while Louis paused at the sideboard to fill two glasses with sherry. Although she wished she were more properly clothed and her hair done up, she was determined to bring this awkward situation to an end.

"Once I was angry with Sam," Louis said, "for planning to take you into God knows what dangers. I thought I might rescue you."

"I'd chosen to go with Sam. He gave me choices every step of the way. Sam has never forced me to do anything."

"You couldn't have known what it would be like."

"No, but I have no regrets, none at all."

"What about yesterday?"

"Yes, that I do regret. But I never have had any regrets about Sam."

"Rumor had it you were not his wife."

"I don't see how that was your concern."

"Don't misunderstand me, Florence, I admire you for not being shackled by convention. You're a splendid woman, a free woman. A lovely hedonist."

"I don't know what hedonist means, but you don't know me. As for conventions – I didn't understand them then and never intended to flout them. I was hurt when I learned how some people judged me for loving Sam. You were a friend, and I felt drawn to you, but I did not mean to mislead you.'' She stood and moved toward the door.

"Please, Louis, forget yesterday, and be a friend."

In a second he was facing her, his arms encircling her and holding her close. Her spine stiffened as she shoved the heels of her hands against his chest and lowered her chin to avoid his kiss. After a minute he relaxed and dropped his arms to his sides.

There was anger in his face and disdain in his voice.

"I do know you, Florence, better than you know yourself. You are drawn to me, and I want you. You knew what was happening yesterday, and you wanted me, too." He drew a quick breath. "Yesterday you trusted your instincts."

She took another step away from him, and the tension in her throat made her voice sound harsh. "Animal instinct is a poor excuse for a man to make. Please leave, now, and if you have any honor, Sam will never know or have a reason to suspect either of us of this tawdry interval."

"Really, Florence, you sound like the heroine in a second rate opera."

"Get out!"

Louis retrieved his hat and was out the door. She turned the key and sighed with relief. Then she picked up the glass she hadn't touched and went to the balcony, now shaded and cool, and she stood there sipping the wine and sorting out her thoughts.

She had said all she needed to and had managed to sound quite rational, too. She couldn't excuse what she had done on the previous day, but today she had undone it, insofar as any such thing was possible. She had learned something about herself, and, appalling as the confrontation had been, his vicious comment taught her much about Louis.

She put him out of her mind.

Tomorrow they would sail for Marseilles and take a train through the autumn countryside, which Sam promised would be lovely.

And then in Paris, perhaps she'd have a day with Adrianna. Talking with Adrianna would help, even though her advice had often been elliptical, it always comforted Florence. Now she hoped Adrianna could satisfy her curiosity about Balzac, too, and his tales of assignation and deception, which now seemed to her even less amusing.

### Chapter 32

Paris

October in Paris was warm and gentle, and from the moment they stepped from the train into a vaulted and sun-drenched station, Florence felt breathless. Sam hired a charabane to take them, baggage and all, along the broad avenues under golden trees. They passed the Cathedral of Notre Dame and crossed the Seine before halting in front of their hotel on a tree-lined street.

"This," she said, "is truly a lovely city!"

"Truly, and we'll enjoy it with all the fervor of two persons released from bondage."

Sam's brother James came to their rooms, greeted Sam heartily, and took Florence's hands.

"I'm extremely pleased to meet you at last. I know from Sam that you are a remarkable woman, and I also know a little about what you've endured and accomplished with Sam. Welcome to our family."

"I'm pleased, too, James. I have looked forward to meeting your wife."

"Yes," Sam broke in, "why didn't you bring Louisa? We could all have a fine time. I've promised Florence we'd see some real Parisian nightlife."

"I'm not sure you'll want to do that, Sam. The newspapers have been filled with accounts of your return. It may not be possible for you two to be out on the streets without drawing a crowd. Matter of fact that's why I chose this small hotel."

"It's a fine place, James. Thank you for your caution. We can be comfortable here while arranging the next steps, but we really must enjoy the city, too. Florence has never been here."

"Well, I've warned you about the public. I don't think I want to join you."

"Oh, come along, James, it can't be all that bad. I doubt people will inconvenience us. We've already met a good many curious strangers in Suez, and all they really wanted was my handshake and a good look at Florence."

James had all necessary information about ferries to Dover and Southampton, and he described the house Louisa had found for them in London, one she was certain would please Florence. When James spoke of the banns being called in the nearby church, Florence suddenly grew uncomfortable, embarrassed to have their marriage so casually discussed by James. The wedding for which she once yearned now seemed not only superfluous, but an insult to their marriage. She excused herself and went to the bedroom, leaving Sam and his brother unaware of her discomfort.

She read a new novel in French now, to sharpen her use of the language. It didn't interest her, and she closed the book on her fingers and drifted into sleep.

She awoke when Sam came to her side holding a letter a messenger had delivered, one he was sure she'd want to see immediately. As he suspected it was a note from Adrianna, saying when she would arrive in Paris and asking Florence to come to her at the first possible moment to spend an entire day.

"You're absolutely right, Sam," Florence said a few days later. "People here are considerate. I don't mind that they want to ask me questions. When I am out alone, they smile but don't often speak as they do when they see you."

"Well, tell that to James. He may believe you. Louisa is more sociable than he is. You'll meet her soon."

"Maybe James will go out with you tomorrow and will see for himself. Adrianna is sending her driver for me, and she asked if you would like to join us for dinner."

"Splendid! I should like to see Adrianna again, and I'd be pleased to take you both to dinner."

Florence dressed in one of her new costumes, including the elegant kid boots made for her in Alexandria and a mauve day gown with a matching coat. She felt quite pleased with the effect as she stood before the pier glass and pinned a little hat carefully atop her new coiffure.

She was becoming accustomed to corsets again but grateful that crinolines no longer shaped every skirt, at least for daytime. In Paris now the skirts lay flat in front and had bows above the fullness that had moved to the back. Florence thought that bustles still seemed like a lot to have to put into a chair, but the narrowed skirts made getting about simpler. She had never liked to wear skirts that filled half a carriage or an entire doorway.

At last a bell rang, and she opened the door to see that Adrianna had stepped out of the iron bird cage lift.

"I've been so eager to see you. I couldn't wait for the driver to bring you to me!"

They embraced, and both talked at once, saying more or less the same things in similar words. Then laughing, they stepped back to look at one another.

Adrianna's face was a little fuller with a slightly double chin, but still was as creamy and perfect as Florence remembered. Her blue eyes sparkled as always, and now held tears of joy.

* * *

Sam and James spent the day discussing problems Florence and Sam might face in England.

"I think, for Florence's sake, we should remain a while in London, perhaps until spring. I know she dreads what life may bring in England more than she ever feared any part of Africa."

"When Louisa and I took the house in Arlington Street, this was in our minds. We thought a gradual introduction to our ways, our city, would be right, and then later the countryside and our home, our family."

"Then you don't believe Min will be outraged by our not coming immediately to Devon?"

"To put it bluntly, Sam, I think she would be outraged if you did. I have told her, as I said in my letters, that you will be bringing your wife to England."

"And?"

"And it did not go well. She cannot understand why you have been so secretive, why you didn't bring her there long ago and introduce her. She is offended. I did say you hadn't meant to be away so long, and you couldn't control every circumstance."

"And I take it that was not sufficient?"

"It was not. She finds it hard to excuse you for bringing home a wife, a mother for the girls, one who is not only a foreigner but a complete stranger."

"I am sorry to hear that. I know she has dedicated her life to caring for my daughters for all these years, but she cannot believe I have no feeling for them. Or they for me. True, the baby knows me only through my letters, but the others must have hundreds of loving memories of me, of our life together, and I have tried, in my letters, to keep those memories alive."

"I don't know what she'd say to that, Sam. But her last word on this was that she won't give up the girls and won't live in the same house with you and your foreigner."

"I had not thought her so harsh. It is going to be worse than I expected, yet, it will all come right in the end. And this I promise: No one dares show my wife, dares show Florence, anything but respect and kindness. I know my daughters will love her."

"I believe they will. But it is going to be a bit dicey for you both. The lease on your house in Mayfair, by the way, may be extended for however long you wish. The location is excellent, and I hope you will find it comfortable."

"And we shall all have a fine time in London. Believe me, James, I am most terribly grateful for your assistance. I do wish I'd had an address for Val. His last to me said he expected to leave Ireland, so I had no way to tell him when we'd be in England."

"I wired him about meeting you in Paris and so on. If he received it, he may even pop up in Mayfair. I knew you would want him at the wedding. As for Min, I will do all I can to soften her heart. Or rather, I should say Louisa and I will do all we can. She is splendid that way.

* * *

"I can see you are content, that it has all come out in the best way," Adrianna said as she sipped an espresso.

They had caught up on the events of the nearly five years. Adrianna was deeply moved by all the dangers her dear friend had faced and apologized for her own easy life.

"Oh, but you mustn't feel sorry for me. Every difficulty strengthened me and, along with the good times, did much to bind us together."

"I can believe that. I've not had such experiences, but I remember how I felt when the Count was ill and dying. I seldom left his side and rather belatedly learned what it could mean to be useful, needed, dependable. At that late hour, we became closer than ever before. After he died, I was grateful for having had that time."

"By the way, Adrianna, I didn't get around to Balzac until we were coming down the Nile this summer. I confess I didn't know what to make of those stories."

"Oh, that. I'd forgotten giving it to you. I think the book was supposed to be a comfort, should the worst occur, if you and Sam parted."

"If he abandoned me? Did you think it likely?"

"Not in the least. I could _see_ he was mad for you, even before he knew it. But he also had that other passion and might have concluded that you couldn't share the rugged adventures he craved. About men and their passions, one cannot be sure."

"And that book should have been a comfort?"

"I thought, if you felt ill-used, it might help to see the funny side of what men and women do. Was I wrong?"

"I don't know what I might have thought or felt had I been left on my own. I'm not sophisticated enough to be amused, and my French remains inadequate. You gave me comfort and security when you said I would be welcome in your home at any time. When Sam was so ill I thought he might die, I remembered that."

"I'm pleased for anything I might have said or done to help you through such an ordeal. The invitation is valid so long as I live. And please forget the book. I've lately been reading George Sand and realize her books would have been better for you."

"Another writer using a man's name? Life must not be easy for a writing woman."

Florence went on about Charlotte Bronte's using a man's name as her pen name, and finally she had to ask about Duleep Singh. Adrianna said she had not seen him again, but had many letters. When Adrianna spoke of men who were friends or loving friends, Florence could now understand. Even though she would have chosen permanence, she knew it that was not in Adrianna's nature.

This was the moment to tell Adrianna about Louis, and she did so without omitting her own embarrassing behavior. Adrianna understood everything she had done and even the shame and regret she felt. Adrianna, as always, made her feel she had actually behaved very well.

"We are flesh and blood, Florence, and temptations do test our feelings and our honesty. You faced a test and came away stronger for it. File it away just in case it ever happens again, to you or to Sam."

"You are wonderful, Adrianna! You make me confident of my own good sense."

"She is a beautiful as ever," Florence said to Sam on their way back to their hotel, "don't you agree?"

"And did she say what she had been doing these last five years?"

"Yes, I think she travels a great part of the time, but I'm not so sure as I once was that she is happy, though that doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"

"It does. Pleasure without purpose isn't satisfying to me. But you and I, Florrie, we have the best of all possible worlds. You do believe that, too, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, Sam. I've even stopped worrying about pretending to be an English lady."

"You needn't pretend to be anything, my dearest. You are all I could wish for and will delight everyone who matters. Just wait and see. We'll have a house in London. If you don't like the one James has leased for us, we'll find another. And we'll have a wedding in the church of St. James in Mayfair. A famous man designed it, and you shall be the loveliest bride ever to stand at its altar."

"What about your family, Sam? Will they come?"

"Just James and Louisa, and maybe, if he gets leave, my brother Val. Later on we can have the girls come to us, one or two at a time so they may get to know you. And they, too, will love you."

"I love you, Sam. I will be a good wife."

"I know, my dear, you have always been."

###

About the author

Tess Enroth, English Professor, has published poetry and short stories. This is her novel.

Contact: senroth2@msn.com
