The Last Camel Died at Noon (25 page)

The servants I had seen certainly appeared to have been trod upon. They might have been a different race from the rulers, being on the average four to six inches shorter, and far darker in colour. They wore only loincloths or lengths of coarse, unbleached fabric wound about their waists. They might not be servants at all, but serfs or even slaves. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that slaves was probably the proper word. The utter silence in which they carried out their duties confirmed this theory; the poor things were not even free to chat among themselves, or sing a merry tune. A slave uprising! My spirit thrilled at the thought of leading a fight for freedom!

Acting upon my impulses has always been one of my characteristics. One of the women, a stocky individual whose waving hair showed a piebald blend of brown and grey, was on her knees sweeping under the bed. I stretched out my hand and touched her shoulder.

She reacted as violently as if I had struck her. Fortunately she hit her head on the bedframe and let out an involuntary yelp of pain, which enabled me to kneel down beside her and offer assistance. At least that was what I meant to do, but perhaps she misunderstood my gesture, for instead of responding she scuttled backwards on hands and knees like a scarab beetle.

My vision of myself as Joan of Arc, waving the banner of freedom, faded. If a mere touch could terrify these little people, they were not likely candidates for an army of liberation. I reminded myself to ask Ramses what the Meroitic word for 'freedom' was.

Emerson returned at that moment, and stood staring in surprise. 'What the devil are you doing, Peabody? Playing a local version of tag?'

I got to my feet. The woman snatched up her broom and resumed her sweeping, at some distance from me.

'I was merely attempting to establish communication with one of these unfortunate slaves, Emerson. It occurred to me-'

'You don't know that they are slaves,' Emerson interrupted, twisting his handsome features into an extraordinary grimace. 'Lie down, Peabody. You are weak and faint.'

'I am not...' Then I saw Mentarit had returned. 'Oh, yes. Thank you, Emerson.'

I resumed my position. Emerson sat down beside me, taking my hand in his. 'Do control your socialistic impulses, my dear,' he said in a low voice, and then, louder, 'Are you feeling better?'

'No. I need fresh air, freedom...' I let out a heartfelt groan.

'You are overdoing it, Peabody,' said Emerson, his lips barely moving. 'Take heart, my dear; I spoke with the guards, and they have assured me our messages will be delivered.'

When the midday meal was served I again forced myself to pick at my food, though by then I could have eaten everything on the table and fought Ramses for his share. Emerson put on a great show of concern, feeling my forehead and shaking his head sadly. 'You are no better, Peabody. Indeed, I think you are weaker.'

'Inanition has that effect,' I said, feeling sure Mentarit would not know the word.

Emerson grinned and sank his teeth into a chunk of bread dripping with honey.

We were still eating - Ramses and Emerson were, at any rate - when there was a commotion outside the door and the hangings were drawn aside. Evidently the rank of the individual governed the number of his attendants. Murtek - for it was he - rated one spearman, one archer, and no handmaiden. His sandals scraped along the floor as he hurried towards me, grinning from ear to ear and trying to bow as he walked.

'You wish to go out, Lady?'

'Why, yes,' I replied.

'You go, then.'

'What, now?' Emerson exclaimed.

'Now, anytime. Why you not say?'

'Curse it,' Emerson began. 'That is not - '

'Emerson,' I murmured.

'Oh, yes, to be sure. We thank you, noble one. We are ready.'

'Now?'

'Now,' Emerson said firmly.

'It is good. We go.'

There was a little delay, however, for I thought it prudent to assume my own clothing, including my belt with its invaluable accoutrements. When I emerged from my room the old man burst into cries of admiration. 'How beautiful is the lady! How beautiful her ornaments of shiny iron! How beautiful her foots and her leg in the boot! How beautiful her - '

I deemed it advisable to cut off the catalogue of my charms at this point, so I bowed and thanked him.

The corridor beyond our rooms was only wide enough for two to walk abreast. Murtek led the way, with Emerson and me following and Ramses bringing up the rear. This time, instead of barring the way, the guards lined up in two rows next to the exit. After we had passed through, one of the groups, consisting of three spearmen and the like number of archers, fell in behind us.

Emerson stopped. 'Why are they following, Murtek? We don't need them.'

'They honour you,' Murtek hastened to explain. 'All great ones of the Holy Mountain have guard. To be safe.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'Well, tell them to keep their distance. Especially from Mrs Emerson.'

After passing through several rooms of considerable size and handsome decoration we emerged into a wide entrance hall with two rows of columns down its length. Straight ahead were the first doors we had seen, constructed of wood heavily bound with iron and wide enough to admit an elephant. Emerson marched straight towards them without breaking stride. Two of the guards dashed ahead and shoved the panels open.

The brilliance of sunlight dazzled my eyes, and for a moment I was blinded. When vision returned, I saw that we stood on a broad landing or terrace. There was no balustrade between the level space and the sharp drop below, only a row of life-sized statues in the ancient Egyptian style. Later I had the opportunity to identify some of them: the cat-headed goddess Bastet and her more ferocious counterpart Sekhmet, who wears a lion's head; Thoth, the god of wisdom and writing, in the form of a baboon; Isis, suckling the infant Horus; and others; but at that time I was more interested in what lay beyond the terrace. It was my first view of the City of the Holy Mountain. I was bitterly disappointed.

It was my own fault, or rather, that of my finely honed imagination. Unconsciously I had expected to see the fairy-tale city of the legends - white marble walls and domes of shining gold, lacy minarets and towers, majestic temples. What I saw instead was a valley shaped like an elongated and irregular ellipse. Rugged cliffs enclosed it, not like protecting hands but like taloned paws, with protruding spurs of rock forming the claws.

The building we had just left was situated on a steep hillside which had been cut into level terraces; as I had thought, it backed up against the cliff and extended into it. Trees and gardens filled the spaces below, with the flat roofs of other structures showing between them. To the right and left, as far as the eye could see, the terraced slopes were similarly occupied. Some of the buildings appeared to be (comparatively) modest in size, others were as large and sprawling as our own house. My attention was caught and held by one particular building that occupied a wide plateau midway up the steep cliffside. It was impossible to make out the details of its construction, but its size proclaimed it a structure of some importance, possibly a temple.

But when I looked down at what lay immediately below me, on the valley floor, I saw what appeared to be a typical African village. A few of the houses were built of mud brick, with enclosed gardens, but the majority were rounded huts of reeds and sticks, like the Nubian tukhuls. The village occupied only a small part of the enclosed ellipse. A body of water surrounded by marshy areas filled the central section. The rest was laid out in fields and pastures. Every inch of land was in use; even the lower slopes had been terraced and planted.

'Oh, dear,' I said. 'It is not the fabled city of Zerzura, is it?'

Emerson shaded his eyes with his hand. 'Just so must large sections of ancient Meroe and Napata have appeared, Peabody. You don't suppose the working class lived in palaces, do you? What an astonishing place! You see how intensive is the cultivation; they may get two or three crops a year. Even so, I don't understand how they can feed themselves. They must trade for foodstuffs with other peoples farther west. And perhaps limit their population by means of - '

'One method or another,' I interrupted - for I preferred not to think of certain of those methods. 'Where does the water come from?'

'Deep springs or wells. I imagine the valley floor is considerably lower than the desert beyond. You'll find the same thing at Kharga and Siwa and the other northern oases, except, of course, for the surrounding cliffs. Not the healthiest of climates, Peabody; you observe that the huts of the humble are down below, while the homes of the upper classes are on the slopes, above the miasmatic air of the swamp.' He turned to Murtek, whose amiable countenance was set in a frown of concentration as he attempted to follow our conversation. 'Where is your house, Murtek?'

The old man extended his arm. 'There, honoured sir. You see its roof.'

He went on to point out other spots of interest. The dwellings of the two princes were widely separated; they were located on the slopes to our right and left, as were the dwellings of other nobles. 'And that?' Emerson asked, indicating the massive structure across the valley.

I had been right. The building was a temple - the house of the gods and those who served them, as Murtek put it. 'Will you go there?' he asked. 'Or stay in this place; here is air, a space to walk oneself in.'

There was no need for consultation on that point; having got so far, we were determined to go on. I was about to cast my vote for a visit to the temple when Murtek spoke again. 'To the house of the Prince Nastasen, to the house of the Prince Tarek, to the house of the Candace (the Meroitic title of the Queen)? All, all is free to you, honoured sir and madam. All good, all beautiful places where the honoured persons wish to go.'

'All good, all beautiful places,' Emerson repeated, fingering the cleft in his chin. 'Hmmm. But that is not a good, beautiful place, is it?'

He pointed to the village.

'No, no, it is not the place for the honoured persons,' Murtek exclaimed, visibly agitated. 'You do not go there.'

'I think we will, though,' said Emerson. 'Peabody?'

'Whatever you say, Emerson.'

I was not really sure why Emerson was so determined to visit the nastiest, least-interesting part of the city, but I knew -as Murtek apparently did not - that opposition was the surest way of strengthening my husband's resolve. Murtek did everything he could to dissuade him, to no avail. He lost a second argument when he tried to order litters for us, but when Emerson demanded the guards be dismissed, Murtek dug in his heels. That, no. That was forbidden. If any harm or offence came to the honoured guests, he would be held responsible.

Emerson gave in with a great show of disgust, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his blue eyes. He had gained more than he had hoped - more than I had expected.

Stairs descended steeply to a landing from which other stairways and paths led off, some to the other houses on the hillside, some to the valley below. A broad roadway led, by winding and elevated ways, towards the temple. Murtek made one last attempt to persuade us to take this path, but when Emerson refused he threw up his hands in despair and gave in. Preceded and followed by our guards, we descended the stairs to the valley floor.

The heat and humidity increased with every downward step, and so did a strong unpleasant smell. Its main component was that of rotting vegetation, but there were interesting undercurrents of cattle and human excrement and unwashed bodies of various species. Seeing me wrinkle my nose, Murtek reached into the breast of his robe and produced a little bundle of flowering herbs, which he presented to me with a bow. He pressed another such bouquet to his own prominent nasal appendage, but Emerson and Ramses refused the ones he offered them. Mine certainly did very little to overcome the stench.

At the bottom of the stairs we found ourselves in what was apparently the High Street of the village. The paths leading off to right and left were as narrow and winding as animal trails, paved with mud and puddles of stagnant water. The main thoroughfare was wide enough for the three of us to walk abreast, but I was glad I had changed into boots. The surface squelched underfoot. It was comical to see Murtek mincing along, holding his long skirts up with one hand and pressing the nosegay to his face with the other.

'You see they live like rats,' he said around the flowers.

'Quite,' said Emerson. 'But where are they?'

There was not even a rat to be seen. Every window and door was closed by shutters or hangings of woven grass.

'They work,' said Murtek, spitting out a leaf from his bouquet.

'All of them? The women and children too?'

'They work.'

The women and children too, I expect,' said Emerson. 'But not all in the fields, surely? Where are the craftsmen - the potters, the weavers, the wood carvers?'

But he knew the answer, and so did I. I had been in many such villages. The inhabitants spent most of the daylight hours out of doors, and always the advent of strangers attracted a crowd of the curious. Either these people were abnormally timid, or they had been ordered to stay away from us. Perhaps the mere appearance of armed guards sent them scuttling into their huts. Every now and then there would be a flicker of movement at one of the darkened windows, where some inhabitant more daring than the rest risked heaven only knew what terrible punishment to snatch a glimpse of the strangers.

Finally the street opened out into a central space with a stone-rimmed well and a few palm trees. The houses around it were a little larger and better built than the ones we had passed; some had the appearance of shops. Woven mattings had been dropped to cover the entrances.

'We go back now,' said Murtek. 'All is like what you see. It is nothing.'

'We may as well, Peabody,' Emerson said. 'We have seen enough, I think.'

I was about to agree when the hangings before one of the shops lifted and a small form wriggled under it. It was no bigger than a year-old English infant, but when it scampered towards us, the dexterity of its movements informed me that it must be two or three years old. He, I should say, instead of it; there was no mistaking his gender, for his small brown body was unclothed except for a string of beads. His head had been shaved, leaving a single lock on the left side.