The Last Camel Died at Noon (22 page)

Emerson was as deficient in the haberdashery line as I, and often wore one of the long masculine versions of the loose robe, or a linen shirt of local manufacture, but he steadfastly refused to appear in a kilt like the one Tarek had worn. At first I could not understand his modesty, for as a rule I had a hard time making him keep his clothes on.

Let me rephrase that. When on a dig, Emerson was only too prone to stripping off coat and shirt, and of course his hat. I objected to this because it struck me as undignified, even when there was no one to see except the workers, but I must confess that aesthetically the effect was extremely pleasing, and I suspected that Emerson was fully aware of my reaction to the sight of his bronzed muscular frame. Yet now that he had a valid excuse to induce that reaction, he refrained. Finally, after what he was pleased to term 'your incessant nagging, Peabody,' he agreed to change into an elegant set of garments that had been supplied, and let me judge for myself.

Since Amenit was present - as she always was - he retired into his chamber to change. When he appeared, flinging back the curtain with a passionate gesture, I could not repress a cry of admiration. His hair was almost shoulder-length by now; the thick, shining tresses were held back from his noble brow by a crimson fillet studded with gold flowers. The rich colours of turquoise and coral and deep lapis-blue in the broad collar upon his breast glowed against his deeply tanned skin. Armlets of gold and gemstones circled his wrist; a wide girdle of the same precious materials supported the pleated kilt that bared his knees and.

I managed to transform my laugh into a cough, but Emerson's face turned a pretty shade of mahogany and he hastily retreated behind the bed curtains.

'I told you, Peabody, curse it! My legs!'

'They are very handsome legs, Emerson. And your knees are quite

'They are white!' shouted Emerson from behind the curtains. 'Snow-white! They look ridiculous!'

They did, rather. It was a pity, for from the crown of his head to the hem of his kilt he was a picture of barbaric, manly beauty. After that I said no more about changing clothes, but I sometimes saw Emerson in the garden, behind a tree, exposing his shins to the sunlight.

We were never alone. When Amenit slept I do not know; she was always in the room, or leaving the room, or entering it, and when she was not present, one of the servants was. They were shy, silent little people, several shades darker in colour than Amenit and Tarek, and if they were not mute they pretended to be, communicating among themselves and with Amenit by means of gestures. The more my strength increased, the more I resented the lack of privacy, for I felt sure that was what prevented Emerson from taking his rightful place at my side by night as well as by day. He was rather shy about such things.

Our suite of rooms surrounded a delightful little garden with a pool in its centre. They consisted of several bedchambers, a formal reception room with exquisitely carved lotus columns, and a bath chamber, with a stone slab on which the bather stood while servants poured water over him. The furniture was simple but elegant - beds with springs of woven leather, chests and beautifully woven baskets that served for storage of linen and clothing, a few chairs, several small tables. Only our rooms were furnished; the rest of the building had been abandoned. It was very large, with innumerable rooms and passageways and several empty courtyards, and part of it had been cut out of the cliff against which it apparently stood. These back rooms had probably been designed for storage; they were small and windowless and looked very eerie in the dim light of the lamps we carried when we explored them.

The walls of many of the larger chambers were handsomely decorated with scenes in the ancient style, depicting long-past battles and long-dead dignitaries, both male and female. The inscriptions accompanying these paintings were in the hieroglyphic script familiar to us from our study of Meroitic remains. Ramses at once announced his intention of copying them - 'to take back to Uncle Walter.' I encouraged him in this; it kept him busy and out of mischief.

The only windows were high up under the roof, clerestory-style. There were no inner doors; woven draperies and matting provided a modicum of privacy.

A particularly heavy set of draperies covered one end of our reception room. Emerson had unobtrusively steered me away from them when we explored (for he was always at my side), but one day, after we had thoroughly examined the rest of the place, I resisted his attempt to lead me towards the garden.

'I don't want to go into the garden, I want to go through that door - for I presume there is one, behind the hangings. Is there a pit full of venomous snakes or a den of lions beyond, that you are so determined to prevent me?'

Emerson grinned. 'It is a pleasure to hear you sound like your old crotchety self, my dear. By all means go ahead, if you are so set on it. You won't like what you find, but I think you are now strong enough to deal with it.'

He politely parted the draperies for me, and I passed through them into a corridor whose walls were painted with scenes of battle. With Emerson close on my heels, I marched the length of the passage towards what appeared to be a blank wall. An opening on the left led into an extension of the passageway; after several more turns and jogs I emerged abruptly into an antechamber, lit by a row of narrow windows high up under the beamed ceiling, and found myself facing a file of men standing at stiff attention. They must have heard the slap of my sandals as I approached, for I felt certain they did not stand around in that uncomfortable pose all the time.

They were a fine-looking set of men, all quite young, all at least six feet tall. In addition to the usual kilt, each man wore a wide leather belt supporting a dagger long enough to be called a short sword, and carried a shield pointed at the top like a Gothic arch. Some held huge iron spears and wore a sort of helmet, fashioned of leather and fitting closely to their heads. Others were armed with bows and quivers bristling with arrows; their heads were bare except for a narrow band of braided grass from the back of which arose a single crimson feather. When I examined them more closely I saw that, though the shields were identical in shape, some were covered with brownish-fawn hide while others - the ones held by the archers - had white patches on a red-brown background. Holding these shields before them, the men formed a living wall across the room from one side to the other. Nor did they give way as I approached them. I stopped, perforce, when my eyes were a scant inch from the well-formed chin of the young man who seemed to be in charge. He continued to stare straight ahead.

I turned to Emerson, who was watching with evident amusement. 'Tell them to let me pass,' I exclaimed.

'Use your parasol,' Emerson suggested. 'I doubt they have ever faced such a terrible weapon as that.'

'You know I didn't bring it with me,' I snapped. 'What is the meaning of this? Are we prisoners, then?'

Emerson sobered. 'The situation is not so simple, Peabody. I let you see this for yourself because you would have insisted on it anyway. Come away; we must talk about this.'

I let him take my arm and lead me back along the corridor. 'Rather cleverly constructed, this,' he remarked. 'The turning of the passage gives the occupants privacy and makes it easier to defend against an attacking force. It makes one suspect that the ruling classes don't enjoy the loyalty of all their subjects.' 'I don't want to hear suggestions and deductions and surmises,' I said. 'I want to hear facts. How much have you kept from me, Emerson?'

'Come into the garden, Peabody.' We circled a group of the little servants who were scouring the floor of the reception room with sand and water, and sat down on a carved bench next to the pool. Lilies and lotus blooms covered its surface; the leaves of the giant lotus, some of them a good three feet in diameter, lay on the water like carved jade platters. A soft breeze whispered through the tamarisk and persea trees that shaded the bench, with a chorus of birdsong forming a musical counterpoint. Birds haunted the garden - sparrows and hoopoes and a variety of brilliantly feathered flyers I could not identify. It was indeed Zerzura - the place of the little birds.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' Emerson took his pipe from the pouch that hung at the belt of his robe, serving as a substitute for pockets. He had smoked the last of his tobacco the day before, but apparently even an empty pipe was better than none. 'Some people might think themselves fortunate to spend the rest of their lives in such peace and tranquillity.'

'Some people,' I said.

'But not you? You needn't answer, my dear; we are, as always, in complete agreement. Never fear, when we are ready to leave, we'll find a means of doing so. I didn't want to make a move of any kind until you were yourself again. We may have to fight our way out of here, Peabody. I hope we do not; but if we do, I need you at my side, parasol at the ready.'

Has ever woman received a more touching tribute from her spouse? Speechless with pride, I could only gaze at him with eyes brimming with emotion.

'Blow your nose, Peabody,' said Emerson, offering me a singularly dirty rag which had once been a good pocket handkerchief.

'Thank you, I will use my own.' From my own pocket pouch I took one of the squares of linen that had been cut, at my direction, to replace my own lost handkerchiefs.

'We've never been in a situation quite like this, Peabody,' Emerson went on, sucking reflectively on his empty pipe. 'Always, before, we were familiar with the local customs, the manners and habits of the people with whom we were dealing. Based on what little I have seen and heard, I have developed a few theories about this place; it seems to be a peculiar mixture of several different cultural strains. Originally, like the oasis of Siwa in northern Africa, it may have been sacred to the god Amon. I believe that some of the priests who left Egypt after the Twenty-Second Dynasty came here and gave new life to the old traditions. After the fall of the Meroitic kingdom the Sacred Mountain became a refuge for the Cushite nobles. There is a third strain of native peoples, the original occupants, whom we have seen acting as servants. Add to all these factors the changes wrought by the passage of time and by centuries of virtual isolation, and you end up with a culture far more alien than any we have encountered. We can make informed guesses about how things are done here, but we would be taking an awful risk if we acted on those guesses. Do you agree with me so far?'

'Certainly, my dear, and without wishing to appear critical of your lecture - which was well-reasoned and eloquently expressed - it was quite unnecessary to go into such elaborate detail, since I had already arrived at the same conclusions. Facts, Emerson. Give me facts!'

'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'The fact is, Peabody, that I haven't spoken to Tarek alone since we got here. He visited you every day, but he only stayed for a few minutes, and there was always someone with him. Besides, I wasn't in the mood for anthropological discussions.'

'Yes, my dear, I understand, and I am deeply appreciative of your concern. But now - '

'Tarek hasn't been back since you recovered consciousness,' Emerson replied somewhat snappishly. 'I couldn't question him if he wasn't here, could I? I discovered early on that there were armed guards in the antechamber, and that they were disinclined to let me pass. But curse it, Peabody, we don't know why they are there. They may be protecting us from dangers we know nothing about. Let me remind you that Tarek's title is that of king's son. He is not the king. We haven't seen the king - or the queen. The royal women of Meroe seem to have held considerable political power. The same may be true here.' 'That would be splendid,' I exclaimed. 'What an example -' 'Curse it, Peabody, that is just what I was afraid of - that you would start jumping to conclusions. The point I am endeavouring to make is that until we know who is in control here, and how they feel about uninvited visitors like ourselves, we must walk warily.'

'Why, certainly, Emerson. And the point I am endeavouring to make is that it is time we made an effort to learn these things. I am fully recovered and ready to take that place at your side you so kindly offered me.'

'I believe you are,' said Emerson, without the wholehearted enthusiasm I had expected. 'All right, then. The first step is to get in touch with Tarek. Do you suppose that omnipresent column of white swaddling will carry a message to him? If you can convince her that you have made a full recovery, we may be able to dispense with her services,' he added, brightening visibly at the idea. 'The confounded girl is getting on my nerves, gliding around like a ghost.'

Amenit made it clear that carrying a message was beneath her dignity, but she agreed to find someone to take it. She admitted I was no longer in need of her medical attention. This did not have the effect Emerson (and I) had hoped, however; when I suggested, as tactfully as my still limited command of the language allowed, that her services could now be dispensed with, she pretended not to understand.

We had made our move; it remained only to await a response. After luncheon we retired for the brief rest that is customary in warm climes. Not for the first time, I regretted the loss of my little library. I would as soon think of travelling without my trousers as my books - cheap paperbound editions of my favourite novels and works of philosophy - for I preferred to spend my resting time reading, my normally vigorous health making extra sleep unnecessary. The books had, of course, been among the unnecessary luxuries discarded after the mutiny of our servants. With nothing better to do, I did sleep for a few hours. When I awoke I went into the reception room to find Ramses and Emerson already there, hard at work on a language lesson.

'No, no, Papa,' Ramses was saying in an insufferably patronising voice. 'The imperative form is abadamu, not abadmunt.'

'Bah,' said Emerson. 'Hello, Peabody; did you have a good rest?'

'Yes, thank you. Has there been any word from Tarek?' 'Apparently not. I can't get a word out of that wretched girl.