The Last Camel Died at Noon (20 page)

They promised some illusion of shelter, and I kept telling myself that when I reached them I could rest. But a sudden stagger betrayed me; the ever-watchful eye of my devoted spouse saw me falter and his stalwart arms broke my fall. The soft sound of muted curses came like music to my ears as he lifted me, and such was the relief of resting against that broad breast, I let myself sink into a swoon.

The blessed trickle of water between my parched lips roused me. It was blood-warm and tasted like goat, but no draft of icy spring water has ever been more refreshing. I sucked greedily until reason returned; then sat up with a cry, striking the container from my lips.

'Good Gad, Emerson, what are you thinking of? You have given me far more than my share.'

'Mama is feeling better,' said Ramses.

They were gathered around me in an anxious circle. I lay in the shadow of a great rock, wrapped in a blanket.

'There are dead trees on the slope,' said Kemit, rising. 'I will make a fire.'

It was welcome; the night air was intensely cold. After consultation we agreed to pass around the brandy I carried for medicinal purposes. It lessened my headache, but made me uncommonly sleepy, so that I drowsed and woke and drowsed again. During one of these periods of wakefulness I overheard the others talking.

It was Kemit's voice that woke me. He spoke more loudly than was his habit. 'There is water, I know it. I have - I have heard the desert men say so.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'We made slow progress today. At this rate it will take two more days.' 'Half a day for a running man.'

Emerson's snort of scepticism was even more emphatic. 'None of us can run at that speed, Kemit. And Mrs Emerson...' He had to pause to clear his throat, poor man.

'She has the heart of a lion,' Kemit said gravely. 'But I fear the demons are winning over her.'

I heard Emerson blow his nose vigorously. I wondered, vaguely, what he was using for a handkerchief.

A small, hard hand touched my forehead. 'Mama is awake,' said Ramses, bending over me. 'Shall I give her a drink, Papa?'

'Not under any circumstances,' I said firmly, and drowsed off again.

It seemed to me that I lay in that state, half-waking, half-sleeping, for the rest of the night, but I must have sunk into deeper slumber, for I woke with a start to find myself clasped close to Emerson's body. He was snoring loud enough to rattle my eardrums. I felt light-headed and weak, but comparatively better, and as the light strengthened I found great comfort in contemplation of the dear face so close to mine. Not that it was looking its best. A prickly stubble of black beard blurred the contours of his jaw, and his firm lips were blistered and cracked. I was about to press my own lips against them when a shrill voice broke the silence.

'Mama? Papa? I hope you will forgive me for waking you, but I feel I must inform you that Kemit is gone. He has taken the waterskin with him.'

Half a day to water, for a running man. That was what Kemit had said, and apparently he had decided to act upon it. By abandoning us he had a chance at saving himself. I did not doubt that those long legs of his could eat up the distance as quickly as he had claimed, especially when he had water to replenish the moisture lost through perspiration.

'I am sadly disappointed in Kemit,' I declared, as we passed round my canteen. Each of us took a sip; there was enough left, I surmised, for one more such indulgence. Fastening it onto my belt, I went on, 'I am seldom mistaken in my judgment of people; apparently this was one of my few errors.'

There was no need to discuss what we would do. We would go on, refusing to admit defeat, until we could go no farther. That is the way of the Emersons.

But we were a sorry crew. Bearded and gaunt, Emerson led the way. Except for his bright eyes, Ramses looked like a miniature mummy, thin as a bundle of sticks, brown as any sun-dried corpse. I was only glad I could not see myself. We plodded doggedly on until the cool of morning passed and the sun beat down with hammer blows of heat. I began to see strange objects in the glimmer of furnace-hot air - mirages of palm trees and minarets, gleaming white-walled cities, a towering cliff of black rock topped by fantastic ruins. They blended into a grey mist like that of evening. My knees gave way. It was an odd sensation, for I was fully conscious; I simply had no control over my limbs.

Emerson bent over me. 'We may as well finish the water, Peabody. It will only evaporate.'

'You drink first,' I croaked. 'Then Ramses.'

Emerson's lips cracked as they stretched in a smile. 'Very well.'

He raised the canteen. I focused my hazed eyes on his throat and saw him swallow. He passed it to Ramses, who did the same, and then gave it to me. I had finished the last of the water, two long, delicious swallows, before the truth dawned on me. 'You didn't - Ramses, I told you - '

'Talking only dries the throat, Mama,' said my son. 'Papa, I believe we can use one of the blankets as a litter. I will carry one end, and you - '

The harsh cackle that emerged from Emerson's throat was a travesty of his hearty laugh. 'Ramses, I am honoured to have sired you, but I don't think that idea is practicable.' Stooping, he lifted me in his arms and started walking.

I was too weak to protest. If there had been any liquid left in my body, I would have wept - with pride.

Only a man like Emerson, with the physique of a hero of old and the moral strength of England's finest, could have gone on as long as he did. As my senses swam in and out of consciousness I felt his arms holding me fast and the slow steady stride that carried us forward. But even that mighty frame had its limits.

When he stopped he had just enough strength left to lay me gently upon the ground before he crumpled and dropped at my side - and his last act was to stretch out his hand so that it rested on mine. I was too weak to turn my head, but I managed to move my other hand a scant inch, and felt another, smaller hand grasp it. As my senses faded into the merciful oblivion of approaching death, I thanked the Almighty that we were all together at the end, and that He had spared me the torture of watching those I loved pass on before me.

BOOK TWO

The City of the Holy Mountain

The Hereafter was not nearly so comfortable a place as I had been led to expect.

Not that I had possessed precise ideas of what lay Beyond, for, to be honest, the conventional images of angels and halos, harps and heavenly choirs had always seemed to me a little silly. (Not just a little silly, if I am to be entirely honest. Preposterous would be more like it.) At worst, I believed, there would be quiet sleep; at best, a reunion with those loved ones who had gone on before. I looked forward to meeting my mother, whom I had never known but who, I felt sure, must have been a remarkable individual, and to finding my dear papa in some celestial reading room pursuing his endless researches. I wondered if he would know me. In his earthly existence he was sometimes rather vague on that point.

Delirium takes strange forms. If I had not been so confident of having lived a thoroughly virtuous life, I might have thought myself translated to Some Other Place, for I felt as if I were being broiled on a huge griddle. Quantities of water were poured down my throat without assuaging my burning thirst. Worst of all, my demands for my husband went unanswered. I ran down endless corridors walled in mist following a shadowy form that ever retreated before me. Could my estimation of my moral worth be mistaken after all, I wondered? The worst punishment an offended Deity could visit upon me was vainly to seek my dear Emerson through the limitless halls of Eternity.

After eons of searching, I found myself no longer running, but walking with dragging steps down a long, sloping passageway where walls and floor were of a flat dull grey. Far ahead a flicker of light appeared, and as I proceeded it strengthened to a golden glow. I began to hear voices. Laughter rippled through them, and the sounds of sweet music; but despite the welcome they promised, my steps dragged and I fought the force that drew me remorselessly forward. To no avail! At last the passageway ended in a beautiful chamber filled with flowers and fresh greenery and suffused with a brilliance brighter than sunlight. A throng of people awaited me. Foremost among them was a beautiful woman whose heavy black tresses were wreathed with roses. With arms outstretched she beckoned me to her embrace. Behind her I saw a face I knew - that of my dear old nanny, framed by the starched white frills of her cap. A venerable couple stood nearby, dressed in the antique styles of the early part of the century; I recognised them from the portraits that had hung in Papa's study. The other faces were unfamiliar, yet I knew, with a certainty transcending mortal experience, that in past lives they had been as dear to me as I was to them. All faces were wreathed in smiles, all voices cried out in welcome. (My papa was not present, but then I had not expected he would be; no doubt he had become involved in some bit of fascinating research and forgot the appointment.)

There were children among them, but none had swarthy complexions and features a trifle too big for their faces. There were stalwart, handsome men - but none had eyes that blazed with blue brilliance, or dimples in their chin.

Summoning all my forces, I screamed that beloved name like an invocation. At last - at last! I was answered. 'Peabody,' the well-known voice thundered, 'come back from there this instant!'

The light vanished, the music and laughter faded into a long sigh and I fell through limitless night into the peace of nothingness.

When I opened my eyes, the vision before them bore a distinct resemblance to the Christian version of heaven. A cloudlike veil of gauzy white formed a canopy over the couch on which I lay and hung in soft folds around it. The curtains stirred in a gentle breeze.

When I attempted to rise, I found I could do no more than raise my head, and that not for long; but the thud with which it struck the mattress convinced me that I was not dreaming, or even dead. I tried to call for Emerson. The sound that came from my throat was scarcely louder than a whimper, but it brought immediate results. The footsteps that approached were steps I knew; and when he thrust the draperies aside and bent over me I found the strength to fling myself into his arms.

I will draw a veil over the scene that followed, not because I am at all ashamed of the strength of the mutual devotion that unites me with Emerson, or the ways in which it is manifested, but because mere words cannot describe the intense emotion of that reunion. When my narrative resumes, then, you may picture me in the affectionate grasp of my husband, and in a state sufficiently composed to take note of my surroundings.

First, of course, I asked about Ramses. 'Fully recovered and inquisitive as ever,' Emerson replied. 'He is somewhere about.'

With ever increasing astonishment I gazed about the room. It was of considerable size, the walls painted with bright patterns in blue, green, and orange, and interrupted, at intervals, by woven hangings. A pair of columns supported the ceiling; they had been painted to imitate palm trees, with the fretted leaves forming the capitals. The bed stood on legs carved like those of lions. There was no headboard; the panel at the foot of the bed was gilded and inlaid with formalised flower shapes. Beside the bed was a low table with an assortment of bottles, bowls, and pots, some of translucent white stone, some of earthenware. There was little more furniture in the room, only a few chests and baskets, and a chair whose seat was covered with the skin of some unknown animal. It was deep brown with irregular patches of white.

'So it is true,' I said, on a breath of wonder. 'I can scarcely believe it, even though I see it with my own eyes. Tell me everything, Emerson. How long have I been ill? To what miracle do we owe our survival? Have you seen Mr Forth and his wife? What is this place, and how has it gone undiscovered through all the years that - '

Emerson stopped my questions in a particularly pleasant manner, and then remarked, 'You shouldn't tire yourself, Peabody. Why don't you rest and take some nourishment, and then-'

'No, no, I feel quite well and I am not hungry. The danger is that my brain will burst with curiosity if it is not satisfied instantly.'

Emerson settled himself more comfortably. 'Perhaps you aren't hungry. I must have poured a gallon of broth into you since last night, when you first showed signs of returning consciousness. You were like a little bird, my dearest, swallowing obediently when I pressed the spoon to your lips, but never opening your eyes...' His voice deepened, and he had to clear his throat before going on. 'Well, well, that terrible time is over, thank Heaven, and I certainly don't want to risk the bursting of that remarkable brain of yours. We may as well take advantage of this time alone while it lasts.'

There was a strange note in his voice when he pronounced the last words; so anxious was I to hear his story, however, that I did not question it. 'Begin, then,' I urged. 'The last thing I remember is being laid gently upon the sand, and seeing you collapse at my side - '

'Collapse? Not at all, my dear Peabody. I was merely taking a little rest before going on. I must have dozed off for a bit; when I opened my eyes I could scarcely believe what they saw - a cloud of sand, rapidly approaching, raised by the hooves of galloping camels. I got to my feet; for whether they were friend or foe, demon or human, I meant to demand assistance from them. They saw me, the troop swerved, and one rider drew out in front of the others. He was practically upon me before I recognised him, and I verily believe it was sheer astonishment that made me - er - lose control of myself for a brief time. When I awoke I was surrounded by robed and hooded forms, one of which was pouring water over my face. I need not say, Peabody, that I turned from him to make certain you and Ramses were being attended to. It was Kemit himself who held a cup to your lips.

'He was soon pushed aside by another attendant, veiled in snowy white, who worked over you with an air of authority I had no wish to deny. Though my brain boiled with questions, I restrained them for the time; the most important consideration was your survival, my darling Peabody. After an anxious consultation it was decided to proceed at the quickest possible pace, for you were in need of attention that could not be rendered under those conditions. Ramses, too, was in poor shape, though not as serious as yours. I saw him lifted into the grasp of one of the riders, and helped place you on a remarkably clever sort of litter that had been rigged up, and then we set out. I rode beside Kemit and was able to satisfy some of my curiosity.

'He had not abandoned us; he had taken the only possible means of saving us. His first words were an apology for having been long. Living in the outer world, as he put it, had softened him; he was only able to run five miles at a stretch! The reception party he expected was waiting at the oasis - for that is what the water sign signified, a veritable oasis with a deep well. He led them back along the trail at full speed, and if ever there was a rescue in the nick of time...

'But after we left the oasis and set out on the last stage of our journey there were times, my dearest Peabody, when I feared rescue had come too late. Your medical adviser, if I may use that term, kept bathing and anointing you, and pouring Peculiar substances down your throat. You were in such dire straits, I dared not interfere; I had nothing better to offer. The only thing I could do was sample the bloo - blooming stuff myself before -'

'Oh, my dear Emerson!' Moved beyond words, I clung to him. 'What if it had been poison?'

'It wasn't.' Emerson squeezed me tight. 'But it was not until last night that I was sure you were out of danger. And you will be ill again, Peabody, if you don't rest. I have satisfied your curiosity -'

'You have scarcely begun,' I cried. 'How did Kemit know there was a rescue party at the oasis? Are these people the descendants of the nobility and royalty of ancient Meroe? What is this place - how has it remained unknown?'

'Answers to your questions would take days, not minutes,' said Emerson. 'But I will try to give you a brief summary. As you know, there are many isolated peaks and larger massifs in the western desert. This place - the Holy Mountain, as it is called - is a massif hitherto unknown. We approached it in darkness, after riding through several miles of outlying foothills. The cliffs must be a thousand feet high, but they looked even higher, towering against the moonlit sky like the ruins of an enormous temple. Vertical erosion has carved them into a maze of natural pillars, with winding passages between. And that fantastic vision, my dear Peabody, was all I saw. As soon as we reached the foot of the cliffs, Ramses and I were blindfolded. I protested, of course, but to no avail; Kemit was very polite but very firm. There is only one way through the cliffs, and it is a closely guarded secret. I tried to keep track of the windings and turnings of the path, but I doubt I could retrace my steps. After some time my camel stopped; still blindfolded, I was helped to dismount and assisted into a carrying chair. I had given Kemit my word I would not remove the blindfold. Otherwise, he politely but firmly informed me, he would have had me bound hand and foot.'

'Did you keep your word, Emerson?' I asked.

Emerson grinned. His face was as tanned and fit as ever, if a trifle thinner, and I was pleased to see he was clean-shaven. 'How can you doubt it, Peabody? Anyhow, the chair was curtained all around; I couldn't see a thing. It was not difficult to deduce that the mode of power was not horses or camels, but human bearers; but I never saw them, because my blindfold was not removed until after we had reached this house and they had departed. Nor, to be honest, was I concerned about anything except seeing you properly cared for.'

He paused in his narrative to administer a few demonstrations of that concern before resuming. 'The precautions taken by Kemit in my case explain one of the reasons why this place has remained unknown. I fancy the unfortunate Beduin who happened to stumble on the secret entrance would not return to tell the tale. In fact, it is unlikely he would get so far; groups of armed men, who use the oasis as one of their bases, constantly patrol the surrounding areas. As I observed, they disguise themselves as ordinary Beduin, wearing the usual robes and headcloths. No doubt they have inspired some of the bizarre legends about raiders like the Tebu, whose camels are said to leave no tracks and who purportedly drink the liquid from the bellies of those beasts. They probably also account for many of the stories about stolen camels and looted caravans. As for our friend Kemit -'

He broke off. 'Brace yourself, Peabody,' he remarked with a laugh; and Ramses was upon us.

As a young child he had been given to extravagant displays of affection, but in the last year or two these had become infrequent, owing, I suppose, to his notion that he was getting too old for such things. On this occasion he quite forgot his dignity, and rushed at me with such impetuosity that Emerson was forced to remonstrate. 'Gently, Ramses, if you please; your mama is still weak.'

'Never mind, Emerson,' I said, speaking with some difficulty because Ramses had a stranglehold around my neck. In obedience to his father's order he relaxed his hold and stood back, his hands clasped behind him. His lean little body was bare to the waist and brown as any Egyptian's; a short kilt or skirt of white linen reached to mid-thigh and was belted with a wide sash of vivid scarlet. But the most remarkable change was his coiffure. His hair, which was one of his best features, being black and soft like his father's, had grown rather long during our journey. Now it was all gone, except for a single lock on one side, which had been braided and bound with ribbons. The rest of his head was as bare as an egg.

A cry of maternal anguish burst from my lips. 'Ramses! Your hair - your beautiful hair!'

'There is a reason for the alteration, Mama,' said Ramses. 'It is very good - very, very good indeed - to see you better, Mama.'

His countenance did not echo the warmth of his words, but I, who knew that countenance well, saw the quiver of his lips and the moisture in his eyes.

Before I could return to the subject of Ramses's missing hair, one of the hangings at the end of the room was lifted, and two men entered. They wore the same simple short kilt Ramses was wearing, but their military bearing and the tall iron spears they carried designated their profession as definitely as any uniform. They separated and turned to face one another, stepping as smartly as any royal guardsmen, and grounded the spears with a muted clash. Next came a pair of individuals eerily veiled in white that covered them from head to foot. Like the soldiers, they took up positions on either side of the doorway. Two more men followed the mysterious veiled persons; they too wore short kilts, but the richness of their ornaments suggested high rank. One of them was considerably older than the other. His hair was snow-white and he had a long mantle draped about his bony shoulders. His face was scored with wrinkles but his eyes were bright, and he focused them on me with avid yet childishly innocent curiosity.