The last camel died at noon, page 25
I could not make out what he said, but from his impassioned tones and the expression on his face I got the distinct impression that he was not suggesting that we be raised to the rank of royal councillors. My hand stole to the breast of my robe.
'Calm yourself, Peabody,' hissed Emerson out of the corner of his mouth. 'There is no danger. Trust me."
If I had trusted the Nubian Robin Hood, I could hardly do less for my husband. My hand dropped to my side.
When Pesaker had finished, Nastasen rose, as if to comment further; but before he could speak, the high, sweet, and now fairly shrill voice of the mysterious veiled lady was heard. She spoke for some time, waving her arms like graceful white wings. When she finished, there was no rebuttal. Biting his lip in obvious vexation Pesaker bowed, and the whole group began to file out.
'Well!' I exclaimed, turning to Emerson. 'We are still honoured guests, it seems. I really expected Pesaker to demand we be put to death.'
'Quite the contrary. He invited us to come and stay here in the sacred temple area.'
'Yes,' said Ramses eagerly. 'And she - Mama, did you hear
'Certainly, Ramses, my hearing is perfectly good. But I confess I did not understand all she said.'
Our attendants, chattering among themselves, began leading us to the exit. Scuffling carefully along in the detested sandals, Emerson replied, 'The language of religious ritual often preserves archaic forms. The survival of Coptic, which has not been spoken for hundreds of years, in the Egyptian Christian Church - curse it!'
He was not referring to the Church (at least not on that occasion) but to his sandal, which had come off. 'But Mama,' said Ramses, fairly prancing with excitement. 'She - '
'Ah, yes,' I said. The litter bearers were waiting, grumbling, Emerson climbed into his. 'She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed - as this mysterious lady was. Veiled all in white lest her incredible beauty arouse the passions of all who behold her - '
Emerson's head popped out between the curtains of his litter. He was scowling horribly. 'You are speaking of a figment of some cursed writer's imagination, Peabody. Get in your litter.'
'But Papa!' Ramses's voice rose to a near shriek. 'She -'
'Do as your papa told you, Ramses,' I ordered, and took my place in the litter.
The return journey seemed to last longer than the trip to the temple perhaps because I was so impatient to discuss the remarkable events of the evening with Emerson. We might even natch a few moments alone; for surely Mentarit (or Amenit, as me case might be) would have duties to perform for her mistress before returning to us.
However, this expectation was doomed to disappointment. After delivering us to our rooms, the litter bearers departed. Not so our attendants. Emerson, who had removed his sandals and was carrying them in his hand, turned to the hovering group and bade them a pointed 'Good night.' They replied with smiles and nods, and continued to hover.
'Curse it,' said Emerson. 'Why don't they go away?' He gestured forcibly at the door.
The gesture was misinterpreted. One of the men took the sandals from Emerson's hand; two others darted at him and began removing his ornaments.
'They are preparing you for bed, I think,' I called, as Emerson retreated like a cornered lion harassed by snapping jackals. 'It is a sign of respect, Emerson.'
'Respect be - ' said Emerson, backing through the doorway into his room, followed closely by his attentive servants.
I resigned myself to receive similar attentions from the ladies. As their hands moved deftly and deferentially to divest me of my ceremonial attire, loosen my hair, and wrap me in the softest of linen robes, I told myself that one must adjust gracefully to different customs, however painful the experience may be. When they tucked me into bed I was reminded of the rituals of medieval days, when the newly married couple was escorted to the nuptial couch by hordes of well-wishers - many of them intoxicated and all of them making rude jokes. The ladies were not intoxicated, I believe, but they giggled a great deal; and when one of them indicated the door to Emerson's room, with a roll of her eyes and a series of extremely graphic gestures, they let out little screams and giggled again.
There was no sound from behind that door; the curtains remained closed. The ladies settled down by my couch and stared expectantly at me.
It had all been rather amusing, but something had to be done; my poor Emerson would never come out while they were present. I raised myself up and called to the white-veiled figure that sat in its accustomed place by the wall. 'Mentarit. Tell them to go away.'
It broke their hearts to obey, but obey they did. Mentarit left with them. After a moment the curtain quivered and was drawn aside just enough to allow Emerson's head to emerge. His eyes moved on a slow, suspicious survey of the entire room; then, pausing only to extinguish the one remaining lamp, he came to my side.
'How did you get rid of them, Peabody?'
'I asked Mentarit to send them away. She is also one who must be obeyed, it seems. How did you - '
'I sent them away myself,' said Emerson with an evil chuckle.
'They are a nuisance, I agree, but I believe they are a sign of our improved status. It's astonishing, isn't it? I thought we would be punished, or at least reprimanded for interfering with the discipline of the rekkit; instead we are even more respected.'
'Or feared,' said Emerson. 'Though that seems unlikely. Fascinating ceremony, wasn't it?'
'Yes, indeed, I believe it is safe to assume this was one of the religious rituals performed at set intervals to honour the gods. We were privileged to be able to observe it.'
'Privileged in more than one way,' Emerson replied thoughtfully. 'Professionally it was a remarkable experience, but even more remarkable, in my opinion, is the fact that we were invited to attend.'
'Oh, I imagine there were sinister undercurrents of which we were unaware,' I said cheerfully. 'Perhaps the High Priest of Amon hoped by this means to get his hands on us and subject us to imprisonment and hideous tortures. Or perhaps the High priestess of Isis had similar designs on our humble persons. Who was that other female, the richly dressed individual who made such - such unladylike advances to the statue of Amon?'
'Obviously she represented the god's concubine,' Emerson said. 'I couldn't quite make out her title, though Pesaker addressed her by it several times.' He took me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
'High Priestess of Amon?' I tilted my head back. Emerson's lips moved to my temple.
'It didn't sound like it. The other lady, the one with all the swaddling, was certainly the High Priestess of Isis. Both may be king's daughters, which raises the question of how much real political power, as opposed to religious rank, they actually have. I mean to do a paper on that subject one day...'
`I have already begun a paper on that subject,' I murmured.
'Mama! Papa!'
It was not a cry for help from the adjoining room. It was a penetrating whisper from only too close at hand.
Every muscle in Emerson's body convulsed. Every muscle in mine cracked painfully as his arms contracted like bands of steel. I let out a gasp of protest.
'I beg your pardon, Peabody,' said Emerson, relaxing his grip but not his teeth. I could feel most of them, clenched and grinding, against my cheek.
I was unable to reply. Emerson patted my back and rolled over. 'Ramses,' he said very softly. 'Where are you?'
'Under the bed. I am very sorry, Mama and Papa, but you would not listen to me before and it is absolutely imperative that you -'
The bedsprings (straps of woven leather) creaked as Emerson lifted himself and propped his chin on his hand. 'I have never given you a sound thrashing, Ramses, have I?'
'No, Papa. Should you feel my present behaviour merits such punishment, I would accept it without resentment. I would never have stooped to such a trick had I not felt -'
'Be quiet until I give you leave to speak.'
Ramses obeyed; but in the silence that followed I could hear him breathing fast. He sounded as if he were on the verge of choking and I sincerely wished he would.
'Peabody,' said Emerson.
'Yes, my dear?'
'Remind me, when we return to Cairo, to have a word with the headmaster of the Academy for Young Gentlemen.'
'I will go with you, Emerson.' Now that the first shock had passed I was beginning to see the humour of the situation. (I am known for my sense of humour; my ability to make little jokes has got me and my friends through several tight spots.) 'So long as he is here, however, shall we let him stay awhile? He may be able to contribute something to our evaluation of the ceremony.'
'He may as well stay,' Emerson remarked gloomily. 'Conversation is the only activity in which I am able to engage at the moment. Very well, Ramses. You presumably overheard our discussion about the priestesses.'
'Yes, Papa. But - '
'It was the Priestesss of Isis who decided that we should remain in our present quarters instead of moving to the temple area. The High Priest of Amon, who suggested the latter course, was visibly displeased, but he didn't argue the matter. Now can we conclude that he wished to get us into the hands of the priests, and that she countermanded the order because she felt we would be safer here?'
'Pa - ' said the voice under the bed.
'The reverse might be argued, Emerson,' I said. 'We would be more closely protected in the temple. And perhaps closer to the tunnel through which we must escape.'
'Mama-'
'We agree, however, do we not, that two different, opposing factions are in contention for control of our humble selves?'
'At least two. Even if we assume that the High Priestess of Isis and Pesaker favour different princes, don't forget my visitor. He must represent a third party - that of the people.'
'Not necessarily,' Emerson argued. 'The theory of government by the people is alien to a culture such as this. The best the rekkit can hope for is a king sympathetic to their needs.'
'Democratic government may be an alien concept, but the seizure of power by an adventurer is not.'
'True. The next time you are visited by Robert of Locksley, you might ask him what his intentions are. I think we might have a little chat with the Priestess of Isis. That is a suitable task for you, Peabody; it would be only courteous to pay your respects. She may have been hinting at just such a visit when she said -'
'"From Greenland's icy mountains!"' Ramses's whisper was as forcible as a shout. '"From India's coral strand!"'
'I beg your pardon?' said Emerson.
The words tumbled out. 'She did not say it, Papa, Mama, she sang it. The hymn. When she sang to the god. Mixed in with the other words. "Hail Amon-Re great progenitor from Greenland's icy mountains, It is thou who wakens the child in the womb from India's coral strand." Mama, Papa - she sang it in English.'
'Another Pair of Confounded Young Lovers!'
Our response to Ramses's announcement was - quite without malicious intent - the most deflating we could have made. I stifled my laughter against Emerson's broad shoulder, and he said with kindly tolerance, 'Did she, my boy? Well, that is not surprising; the priestesses are all of noble birth, and as we know, many of them learned a bit of English from Forth. She may have intended a delicate compliment to her god by singing the hymn of another faith. Or even... I say, Peabody! Could it have been meant as a delicate compliment to us - a sign that she means us well?'
'I don't believe for a moment that she sang anything of the kind,' I replied. 'Ramses's imagination has run away with him. One could find any tune one wanted in the weird ululations of this music.'
'I assure you, Mama -'
'Oh, I am sure you thought you heard it, Ramses. Hang it all,' I added in mounting irritation - for Emerson's amusement had improved his mood and resulted in certain surreptitious gestures that belied his earlier fears - 'your papa and I have been amazingly tolerant of your outrageous behaviour. Off to bed with you this instant.'
From under the couch came a faint grinding sound. Ramses was trying to grit his teeth - one of the rather touching ways in which he strove to emulate his sire. He made no other objection, however, and his retreat was as silent as his approach had been. Only when the faint rustle of the hangings indicated that he had passed into the next room did Emerson continue with what he had been doing.
Our attendants reappeared the following morning, to Emerson's extreme annoyance. As soon as we had finished breakfast he declared his intention of paying a few social calls, first on Murtek and then, if it was permitted, on the princes.
If he had hoped to elude his attendants, the trick did not work. The gentlemen of the bedchamber were close on his heels. He did not return, so I concluded he had been permitted to leave the building, and I determined to do the same.
When I suggested I might call on the High Priestess, the shocked reactions of my ladies-in-waiting made it clear that I had committed a social error by even suggesting such a thing. The Priestess did not entertain visitors or leave her chambers except to participate in religious ceremonies. I felt very sorry for the poor creature; even Moslem women had greater freedom, for they could walk in their gardens and go out if properly veiled and attended.
'Is it the same for all the noble women?' I asked. 'Are they also prisoners?
They hastened to assure me that, first, the Priestess was not a prisoner and, second, that priestesses were subject to different rules. Other women came and went as they pleased. And where did they go? I asked. Oh - to the temple, to one another's houses, to wait on the queen and the royal children...
That gave me my opening. I announced that I would also attend Her Majesty, to whom they had referred by her ancient title of Candace. 'In my country,' I added, 'all visitors pay their respects [literally, go and bow down] to our Queen. It would be rude [literally, bad conduct] not to do it.'
After some discussion, the ladies agreed I had struck on an excellent idea. It turned out to be a much more complicated procedure than I had anticipated; every step had to be argued and discussed. Should someone be sent ahead to announce our coming? (Yes, she should.) What should I wear? (We were unanimous on that point; I was determined to go armed and accoutred, and the ladies seemed to think Her Majesty would like to see my peculiar clothing.) How should we go? (A compromise was finally reached; the ladies took the litters, I walked.) Should Ramses accompany us?
Ramses was nowhere to be found, which settled that question. The ladies seemed to think it was a game, something like hide and seek, and would have gone on looking for him all day if I had not announced my intention of proceeding without him. I was not concerned about his safety, since he could not get out of the house, and it had already occurred to me that the visit might go more smoothly without him. One never knew what he might say. So finally we set out. The sun was high and the temperature extremely warm, but I did not mind; it was such a pleasure to stride freely, breathing deeply and taking in the sights along the way. I fancy the litter bearers were pleased too, for they were obliged to match my pace, and although that pace was brisk it was a good deal less tiring than their usual trot.
The stone-paved causeway was in excellent condition. A group of the little dark people was engaged in making repairs on one section; they knelt at the sight of the guards, and remained in that position until after we had passed. I caught glimpses of others working in the gardens along the way. Parts of the hillside were beautifully terraced and landscaped, but others had been given up to weeds and brambles, among which fragments of the broken walls stood up like rotting teeth. I wondered whether the ruins were signs of a past civil war or of declining population and resources. Some decline was inevitable; it was a wonder this curious culture had survived as long as it had. The days of its isolation were numbered, I thought with a curious sense of regret. Sooner or later it would be discovered, not by solitary wanderers like ourselves and Willoughby Forth, but by the advancing tide of civilisation armed with weapons against which the spears and bows of the guardsmen could not avail. And then what would be its fate?
The residence of the Candace adjoined the temple on the western side; it was the impressive building I had noticed the night before and was, in fact, the royal palace. Owing to the uncertainty regarding the succession, Her Majesty was at present the only occupant, except for the usual clutter of concubines, servants, attendants, and hangers-on. I had learned from my ladies that she was the mother of Prince Nastasen, Tarek's mother having died when he was a child.
After the usual tedious ceremonies of welcome, I was escorted through a series of courtyards and entrance halls to a magnificently decorated reception room, where the queen awaited me; and I am sorry to admit that the sight of her - and her ladies-in-waiting - was such a shock that I forgot my manners and stood gaping rudely.
Her Majesty had dressed in her finest to do me honour. On her head was a cunning little cap surmounted by a bejewelled falcon whose wings curved down towards her cheeks. She wore heavy necklaces and gold bracelets; braided tassels adorned her gown, which was of the sheerest linen gauze with wide, pleated sleeves. It showed a great deal of the lady, and there was a great deal to show. She was incredibly obese, almost as wide as she was tall. Rolls of fat circled her body; her round, smiling face appeared to rest directly on her shoulders with no sign of a neck. The face itself was quite pretty, with delicate features strongly resembling those of her son. Though her rounded cheeks dwarfed them, they suited her better than they did Nastasen, and her little dark eyes twinkled with amiable curiosity. Her ladies were also elegantly dressed and several of them were almost as large, though none equalled the imposing dimensions of the queen.
