The Last Camel Died at Noon (24 page)

'I seem to detect a note of criticism in your remarks, Ramses,'

I said. 'And I take strong exception to it. Er - what did Tarek say?'

Ramses looked around for something to sit on, his lips curling as he surveyed the mess on the floor. Though his personal habits left a great deal to be desired, in some ways he was as fastidious as a cat. (That is, he was intolerant of all messes except the ones he made.) 'May we go into your sleeping room, Mama? We can converse more comfortably there.'

We did as he suggested - Emerson stepping absently over the servants, who were crawling around picking up the scraps. Darkness had fallen but it was still early, by our standards; like other peoples who lack efficient means of artificial lighting, the citizens of the Holy Mountain rose at sunrise and went early to bed. I was a little tired myself, so I was glad to recline. Emerson drew up a chair and Ramses curled up at the foot of the bed, cleared his throat, and began.

'Mrs Forth did not long survive her arrival here. "She went to the god," as Tarek put it, quite delicately, I thought. Mr Forth lived for many years. Tarek assured me he was happy here and did not want to leave.'

'Ha,' I exclaimed. 'We may take that with a grain of salt, I think!'

'Not necessarily,' Ramses argued. 'It may be that his appeal for help was written early in his captivity.'

'And took over a decade to be delivered?'

'Stranger things have happened,' Emerson said thoughtfully. 'The message must have been composed while Mrs Forth yet lived. Forth may have changed his mind.'

'He did,' said Ramses. 'If you will permit me to finish -'

'How did Mr Forth die?' I demanded.

Ramses spoke in a rush. 'Of purely natural causes, if Tarek is to be believed, and I see no reason why we should doubt him, for he went on to say that Mr Forth had risen to the rank of Counsellor and Tutor of the Royal Children; it was from him that Tarek and certain others learned English, and Tarek spoke of him with great affection and respect.'

He paused and inhaled deeply.

'That doesn't explain the message, or the map,' I said critically. 'Or why Tarek came to work for us, or his reasons for doing so, or who is responsible for our being here.'

Ramses's eyes narrowed in exasperation. 'Tarek could not speak freely. Not all those present tonight were loyal to him. He warned me to be careful of what we said by quoting the precept, "A man may be ruined because of his tongue - "'

'Ah - the Papyrus of Ani!' exclaimed Emerson. 'To think that ancient book of wisdom has survived so long! It must have been carried to Cush by the priests of Amon who fled Thebes at the beginning of the Twenty-Second Dynasty. Peabody, you remember the rest of the passage - "Do not open your heart to a stranger - "'

'I do remember it. It is excellent advice, but I think Ramses is giving way to his love of the theatrical when he interprets it as a warning.'

Ramses looked indignant, but before he could protest, his father came to his defence. 'I am inclined to think it was meant as Ramses interpreted it, Peabody. We seem to find ourselves in the middle of a political struggle for power. Tarek and his brother are competing for the kingship - '

'The god will decide,' I broke in. 'I presume you overheard what Murtek told me; you heard him mention the ceremony of coming-forth.'

'Yes. But I hope you are not so naive as to believe that the god is incorruptible. Behind the pious platitudes of inscriptions like those of Thutmose the Third lies the same ugly truth that controls modern struggles for power and prestige. In Egypt the High Priests of Amon were the eminences grises behind the throne; eventually they seized the crown itself.'

'Then you think - '

'I think Nastasen and Tarek both want to be king,' Emerson said. 'And that the High Priest of Aminreh -' He broke off with a muttered curse as the handmaiden appeared in the open doorway. 'Confound it, what does she want? Tell her to go away.'

'She wants to put me to bed, I think,' I said, stifling a yawn. 'You tell her to go away.'

'Never mind.' Emerson rose with a sigh. 'You must be tired, Peabody. It has been an interesting day.'

'I am not that tired," I said, meeting his eyes.

'Oh? Yes, but...' Emerson cleared his throat. 'Well. Er. Come, Ramses. Good night, Peabody.'

'Au revoir, my dear Emerson.'

I was a trifle tired, but I was not at all sleepy. My busy brain teemed with questions I yearned to discuss with Emerson. As the handmaiden bustled about the room, dimming the lamps, straightening the bedclothes, and helping me into my night robe, I wished Kemit had been more direct instead of so confounded literary. It was all very well to warn us not to open our hearts to strangers - but they were all strangers here, even Kemit. What did he want from us - whom could we trust?

After tucking me into bed, the handmaiden proceeded to 'listen to the voice of the heart.' I looked at the slender fingers resting on my breast, and suspicion blossomed into certainty. 'You are not Amenit,' I said. 'Your fingers are longer than hers and you move quite differently. Who are you?"

I was prepared to repeat the question in Meroitic, but there was no need. Drawing my robe into place, she said softly, 'My name is Mentarit.'

Her voice was higher in pitch than Amenit's - soprano rather than contralto. 'May I see your face?' I asked; and, as she hesitated, I went on, 'Amenit unveiled for me. We were friends.'

'Friends,' she repeated.

'That means -'

'I know.' With a sudden movement she flung back the veil.

It was a lovely face, rounder and softer than that of her fellow-priestess, with great dark eyes and a delicate mouth. In outline the last-named feature strongly resembled that of Nastasen. It suited the girl far better than it did the prince, but it rather prejudiced me against her.

'You are very pretty,' I said.

She ducked her head shyly, like any modest English maiden, but she watched me from under her long lashes and her eyes were bright and wary. 'You must sleep now,' she said. 'You have been very ill.'

'But I am not ill now. Thanks to your excellent nursing, I am fully recovered. Didn't Amenit tell you I was better?'

Her smooth forehead crinkled in a frown, and I repeated the question in my stumbling Meroitic. Unlike Amenit she did not smile at my mistakes. 'I did not speak with my sister,' she said, speaking slowly and clearly. 'Her time of - was over, my time began(?) today.'

I questioned her about the words I had not understood; she explained that the first meant 'service' or 'duty,' and that my interpretation of the second had been correct. When I attempted to continue the conversation, however, she placed her fingers on my lips. 'You sleep now,' she repeated. 'It is not good to talk.'

She retreated to a corner of the room, where she sat down on a low stool. A few moments later the curtain to the next chamber was drawn aside. Emerson stood there. He was attired in a particularly handsome robe woven with stripes of bright blue and saffron and he carried one of the pottery lamps. It may have been the light that cast a rosy flush upon his face, but I suspected not.

'Go, Handmaiden,' he said in stumbling Meroitic. 'Tonight I am with my woman. It is the time - er - I wish - er...' Here his native modesty overcame him, and his speech failed, for his study of the language had not gone so far as to include euphemisms for the activity he had in mind. Resorting instead to sign language, he blew out the lamp and advanced on Mentarit, pointing towards the door and flapping his hand at her.

I think she caught his meaning. A muffled sound that might have been a gasp or a giggle came from her, and she backed towards the door. I watched, choking with laughter and another emotion I am sure I need not specify. The expression of placid satisfaction on Emerson's face after he had shooed her out and was advancing with long strides towards the bed where I lay was almost too much for me, but amusement was soon overcome by other sensations even more powerful. It had been a long time. I will say no more.

Thereafter, as we reclined in the pleasurable aftermath of fulfilled connubial affection, Emerson hissed, 'Now we can converse freely without fear of being overheard.'

I shifted position slightly, for he had spoken directly into my ear, which produced a not-unpleasant but distracting effect. Emerson tightened his grasp. 'That was not my only motive for joining you, Peabody.'

'You have demonstrated your primary motive most effectively, my dear Emerson, but we may as well take advantage of the situation. I presume you have in mind some brilliant scheme of escape?'

'Escape? From what? Devil take it, Peabody, getting out of this building is not the problem. We could manage that, I expect; but then what? Without camels, water, and supplies we wouldn't stand a chance of escaping from this place, even assuming I could locate the entrance to the tunnel by which we entered, which I could not.'

'What do you propose then? For I presume you have not arranged this romantic rendezvous solely in order to point out the things we can't do.'

Emerson chuckled. 'My darling girl, it is wonderful to hear you scolding me again. In case you have forgotten my real reason for arranging this rendezvous - '

'Now, Emerson, stop that. Or rather - please postpone what you are doing until after we have arrived at a solution to our difficulty, for I can't think while you are..."

After a further interval Emerson remarked breathlessly, 'You talk too much, Peabody, but it is a pleasure to stop your mouth in that particular fashion. What I was about to say, when your presence distracted me, was that I have yet to have it demonstrated to me that there is any need for escape. We haven't even begun to explore this remarkable place. The opportunities for scholarly research are endless!'

'I am sure I needn't tell you I share your enthusiasm, my dear. Yet I have seen a few ominous signs -'

'You are always seeing ominous signs,' Emerson grumbled.

'And you are in the habit of ignoring them when they conflict with what you want to do. Mr Forth may or may not have wanted to leave this place; the one indisputable fact is that he did not. I am not urging a precipitate departure; I only want to make certain that when we are ready to go, we will be permitted to do so. You don't want to spend the rest of your life here, I suppose? Even if they do make you a councillor and tutor to the royal children.'

'With no tobacco for my pipe and those swaddled females constantly hovering over us? Hardly.'

'It pleases you to be frivolous, Emerson. Another of the ominous - or, if you prefer, significant - signs I mentioned is the conflict between the two princes. You were quite right' - (I thought it time to apply a little flattery) - 'when you pointed out that political struggles of this sort are pretty much alike. "He who is not for me is against me" is a saying which I am sure applies just as forcibly here as in our part of the world. It can hardly be supposed that we will be allowed to remain neutral, and in a society like this one, political opposition is apt to take the form of violent attack.'

'It is a pleasure,' said Emerson, with several little demonstrations of that pleasure, 'to deal with a mind as quick and logical as yours, my dear Peabody. I admit the force of your argument. We should anticipate the worst in order to be prepared for it. Almost certainly there will be a party, or parties, who will not want us to leave. Therefore we will require allies who can supply us with the necessities for a desert journey.'

'You propose we offer to assist one of the princely candidates in return for his promise to help us get away?'

'Nothing quite so Machiavellian. I am already inclined towards our friend Tarek.'

'So am I. I grew quite fond of him while he was Kemit, and I don't like Nastasen's mouth.'

Emerson let out a roar of laughter, which I stifled promptly and efficiently. While he was trying to catch his breath I said severely, 'Physiognomy is a science, Emerson, and I have always been a keen student of it. So we throw our weight to Tarek?'

'Such as it is. I find it difficult to understand why we were lured here - for we were, Peabody, I am convinced of that - or why our presence is so important.'

'We must know more,' I agreed. 'Not from what people tell us, but from our own observation. I have now made it clear that my health is fully restored, so they can't use that as an excuse to keep us confined.'

We discussed this matter a while longer, considering various alternatives. Then I started to yawn, and Emerson said that if I was bored, he had an idea that might relieve my ennui.

It did.

We were awakened rather late the following morning by Mentarit pulling back the curtains Emerson had drawn around the bed. Veiled though she was, she managed to convey interest and curiosity by the very tilt of her head. Fortunately, the nights being quite cool, we had ample covering, but still Emerson did not like it and swore a good deal. After considerable thrashing about under the covers he managed to get into his robe and stalked off, still muttering, to his own chamber.

We had decided to try two methods of winning freedom from the building and I put the first one into effect immediately, picking at my breakfast and trying to look limp and depressed - not an easy task, for I was as hungry as a lioness and had never felt more alert. Mentarit observed my behaviour and asked what was the matter.

'She fades and droops in this room,' Emerson answered. 'The women of our country are accustomed to walk abroad freely, to go wherever they wish.'

He had deliberately spoken English. The girl did not pretend she had not understood; she pointed to the garden.

'That is not enough,' I said. '1 need to walk, exercise, go far. Tell the prince.'

A brusque nod was the only response, but before long she left the room and I hoped she had gone to pass on my request. Emerson followed her through the curtain.

While he was gone I reclined on a bench or divan covered with soft cushions, to carry out my claim of weakness, and watched the servants. A new idea had come into my head.

In any society (save the Utopian inventions of imaginative writers), there are at least two classes: those who serve and those who are served. Human nature makes it inevitable that there should be conflict between these groups; the history of mankind holds innumerable examples of the horrors that may ensue when the downtrodden working class rises up in resentment of those who oppress them. Could we, I wondered, make use of this well-known social phenomenon? Could we, in short, foment a revolution?