There were few people visible as we walked along the rows of tents. Despite my years (well, decades) of experience excavating in the deserts, I grimaced as the sun bore down on me. I have always insisted that work cease during the worst of the heat in adherence to Mr. Kipling’s admonishment that only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. Emerson was known to object, claiming that I was as overprotective as a mother hen, but he rarely attempted to counteract my order. The workmen from other sites expected to work from dawn to dusk with only nominal breaks for water and food to earn a pittance for their backbreaking labor. We have always treated our workmen with respect and paid them well enough to maintain their loyalty. This is not meant to imply that they were not unsettled by Emerson’s periodic outbursts of aggravation and ensuing streams of profanities. Most people were.

Sheikh Nasir el-Din was seated on a rug in a large tent, puffing on a hookah and watching babies drool and toddlers careen about the room. When he saw me, his lips twitched but he did not speak.

“Shukran,” I said as I sat down near him, uninvited but resolved to gain his permission to take Herr Morgenstern back to Amarna. I glanced at Omar. “Please tell the sheikh that I am very grateful for his hospitality. I am sure that Professor Emerson will think kindly of you for providing me with water and shade.” I waited until Omar had translated my words, and then continued. “Herr Morgenstern behaved very badly, very badly indeed, but he did not know what he was doing and would never have done this dreadful thing had he been in his right mind. I am sure that the sheikh is familiar with the idiosyncrasies of those suffering from the formidable heat, and has shown them compassion. I hope he will do so in this instance.”

He somberly listened to Omar’s recitation, and then muttered something. I did not wait for Omar to interpret it, and moved on to my next ploy. During the walk, I had taken a mental inventory of my tool belt. I retrieved my electric torch from one of my pockets. “Perhaps this gift may soften the sheikh’s justified indignation.” I switched it on and let its beam flutter around the ceiling of the tent, and then handed it to him. “It is a useful tool.”

After half an hour of haggling, he was the proud possessor of the torch, a collapsible cup, a small pair of scissors, and a notepad (should he wish to make a little list). I had his consent to take Herr Morgenstern out of his sight—forever.

Omar was grinning as we walked back to his mother’s tent. “Nicely done, Sitt Hakim. Sheikh Nasir el-Din can be obstinate, especially when he has been treated disrespectfully.”