The Last Camel Died at Noon (27 page)

Warm lips slid across my brow, down my cheek... to my ear. 'I come to help, not harm, Lady.' The whisper was hardly more than a warm, moist breath. 'Trust me.'

Well, I had very little choice, did I? He went on in Meroitic, speaking very slowly and distinctly. 'If you cry out it will mean my death. Hear me first. I put my life in your hands to prove my good (faith, intentions?).'

Indeed, the argument was persuasive. When he took his hand away I gulped a great breath of air. His body was tense and ready but he did not cover my mouth again. 'Who are you?' I whispered.

'You will not call the guards?'

'No. Unless... Are you alone?'

He caught my meaning at once. The weight that pressed me down lifted, but he kept his mouth close to my ear as he said softly, 'I am alone. Your man, your child are safe. They sleep.'

'Why are you here? Who are you?'

'I come to...' The word was unfamiliar to me, but his next sentence made its meaning clear. 'There is danger. You must (escape, get away?) from this place.'

'We need camels, water,' I began.

'They will be found.'

'When?'

'After..." He paused.

Aha, I thought; I rather suspected there would be an 'after.'

'What do you want from us?' I asked.

'Today you save two of my people. They die, they suffer. You help them to be - ?'

'I do not know that word.'

'To go, to come, to do what they wish.'

'Ah!' In my excitement I had spoken too loudly. His hand clapped over my mouth. When he took it away, I breathed, 'I understand. Yes, we will help. What can we do?'

'Wait. A messenger will come, carrying the -. Trust only the one who carries the -.'

'The what?'

'Ssssh!'

'I do not know that word! It is important,' I added - an understatement if ever I made one.

His breath came quick and uneven. After an interval he said in English, 'Book.'

'Book?

'Book!' The exasperation in the muted whisper sounded so like Emerson I almost smiled. 'Book. English book.' 'Oh. Which -' 'I go.' He spoke in Meroitic. 'Wait! I have questions, many questions - '

'They will be answered. I go. The guards change(?) at the turning of the night.'

'What is your name? How can I find you?'

'No one can find me. I live only because no one knows my name.' He rose lithely to his feet, featureless as a carved column in the darkness. Then he bent to my ear again, and there was a hint of what might have been laughter in his voice when he whispered, 'They call me the Friend of the Rekkit.'

'B-H-!'said Emerson.

I did not remonstrate, though Ramses sat cross-legged at our feet, his ears pricked like those of the huge cat that overflowed his lap. Emerson's outrage was so vast that the effort to contain it in a whisper made him quiver like a teakettle on the boil. To exasperate him further would have been dangerous to his health.

'First I find myself dropped into a plot that might have been concocted by your favourite author Rider Haggard,' Emerson went on in the same hoarse whisper. 'Now I must contend with another character out of fiction - or, what is worse, English fairy tales. Robin Hood! Defending the poor against the oppression of the nobles - '

'I don't know what you are complaining about,' I replied. 'That is exactly what you did yesterday, and now we understand what the little woman meant. No wonder she was awed; she must have taken you for the valiant and mysterious defender of her people. You see what that implies, don't you, Emerson? No one knows who he is, or even what he looks like. It is a very romantic -'

'Rrrrrr,' growled Emerson. (The cat flattened its ears and growled back at him.) 'Why did you wait until this morning to tell me this, Peabody? Why didn't you come to me at once?'

Here, of course, was the true cause of his discontent. Emerson knows better, but he continues to cling to the forlorn hope that I will turn into one of those swooning females who unfortunately typify our society, and fling myself squealing at him whenever anything happens. He really would not care for it, but like all men he clings to his illusions.

'Because, my dear, the guard changed at midnight,' I replied.

'Midnight? There is no such - '

'I translate freely. Whatever time he meant, it was imminent, and his haste to depart suggested that the replacements were not sympathetic to him. I did not want to alert possible spies by doing anything out of the ordinary.'

'But you got out of bed and went looking for Amenit -Mentarit - whichever cursed female it was...'

'My getting out of bed, for one reason or another, was not out of the ordinary. I could hardly help finding Mentarit - for it was she - since I fell over her on my way to the - er. She was sleeping so soundly that she did not even stir.'

'Drugged,' Emerson muttered.

'She must have been. When I say I fell over her, I mean that I literally fell on top of her. She woke at the usual time, though, and seems quite normal.'

Emerson fingered his chin thoughtfully. Ramses fingered his. The cat rose with oiled grace and stood alert, tail twitching and eyes fixed on a bird that swung, singing, from a branch.

The air was still cool and sweet; the lilies in the pond folded modest petals about their hearts, awaiting the wooing of the sun. All was peace and beauty here. I thought of the foul streets of the village, the closed and shuttered houses, the almost palpable stench of fear.

'We cannot leave here without trying to help those poor people,' I whispered.

'Apparently we cannot leave unless we do' was my husband's sour reply. 'Try we may, but curse it, Peabody, I don't believe the poor devils have a chance.'

'Surely there are more of them than of the ruling class.'

'They are not allowed weapons,' said Ramses.

He had somehow acquired - I did not like to ask where or from whom - the knack of speaking without moving his lips, almost in the fashion of a ventriloquist.

'They must have tools,' I argued. 'Spades, ploughs - '

'One cannot beat a stone plough into a sword, Mama,' said Ramses. 'The ruling class has iron weapons. It is death for a commoner to possess iron in any form.'

'How do you know that?' I demanded.

'From the guards, I presume,' said Emerson. 'He has become something of a pet with them.'

'These people are very fond of children,' said Ramses, with a callous cynicism that chilled my blood. 'The captain (his name is Harsetef) laughed and patted me on the head when I asked to hold his big iron spear. He said he hoped his son would grow up to be a brave boy like me.'

During the course of the morning I watched the slaves closely, wondering if they had heard of our noble efforts on behalf of one of their number. If anything, they avoided me more assiduously; my smiles and attempts at conversation brought no response. Finally Mentarit said curiously, 'Why do you talk to the rekkit? They will not answer. They are like animals.'

I gave her a little lecture on the Rights of Man and the principles of democratic government. My command of her language was not great enough to do justice to those noble ideals, but I feared her incomprehension was due more to her prejudices than to my verbal inadequacies. So I gave up - for that time.

As the hours passed I became prey to increasing uneasiness. That our actions would be ignored or overlooked I could not believe; Mentarit's question had proved, if further proof was needed, how strange our behaviour must have seemed to these lordly aristocrats. I remembered the reaction of our neighbour Sir Harold Carrington and the members of his hunting party when Emerson charged into their midst and beat the dogs off the cornered fox. Not anger so much as utter disbelief had marked every face, and one of the men said something about a thrashing. (Needless to say, that suggestion was not repeated.) So must the nobles of this society have felt at seeing us interfere to protect creatures they regarded as mere animals.

We might not have improved our situation by interfering, but on the other hand, we might not have worsened it - for the simple reason that it could not be any worse. The real intentions of our captors were still unknown. We had been treated with courtesy and supplied with every comfort; but the Aztecs of ancient America, among others, pampered captives scheduled for sacrifice and no doubt would have been seriously annoyed if one of them had been carelessly destroyed before the ceremony. To the best of my knowledge, human sacrifice was not practised by the ancient Egyptians, but times had changed - quite a lot of time had changed, in fact.

Emerson's increasing restlessness showed he shared my uneasiness. After the midday meal he paced the floor for some time, muttering under his breath, before retiring to his sleeping chamber. I assumed he had sought relief with his journal, so I returned to mine - for of course we were all keeping copious notes on this remarkable adventure, and I felt confident that my feminine viewpoint would provide valuable insights. I was scribbling busily away when the sounds of an altercation sent me flying to the doorway. One of the voices (the most audible) was that of Emerson.

I found him in the antechamber, expostulating with the guards. Their great spears barred the doorway like a cross of iron, and their faces remained averted even when Emerson shook his fist under each nose in turn.

'Come away, Emerson,' I begged, seizing him by the arm. 'Don't lower your dignity by screaming. They are only obeying orders.'

'Curse it,' said Emerson; but the force of my argument prevailed, and he allowed me to lead him away. 'I was not screaming, Peabody,' he added, mopping his perspiring brow.

'The word was ill-chosen, Emerson. What were you trying to do?'

'Why, go out, of course. I don't understand why we have had no official reaction to our unorthodox activities in the village. Murtek's consternation made it obvious that we must

have committed a gross social error, if nothing worse. I cannot believe it will be passed over without so much as a reprimand. The suspense is preying on my mind. Better a confrontation, even of a physical nature, than this uncertainty.'

'I would much prefer uncertainty to a physical confrontation, my dear. These people are not so unsophisticated as to be unaware of the effect of delay on characters such as ours. They may take several days to respond.'

'They are already responding,' Emerson said grimly. 'The guards refused even to answer me when I demanded they take a message to Murtek. And look here' - his gesture took in the reception room and the garden beyond - 'they have all disappeared. Not a soul around. Not even the handmaiden.'

He was quite correct. Absorbed in my writing, I had not observed the servants leave. We were alone.

It is difficult to defend oneself against the unknown, but we did what we could. Emerson had already changed into his civilised garments and I followed suit, buckling the belt around my waist and placing my parasol conveniently at hand. At my insistence Emerson put my little pistol and a box of ammunition in his coat pocket. He dislikes firearms - and indeed manages quite well without them - but on this occasion he did not argue, and the grim look on his face assured me that in the final extremity I could count on him to use the last bullet as I would myself.

In addition to my useful parasol, I had my knife and a pair of scissors. Not a great armament with which to combat an entire city; but it was comforting to realise that express rifles or even Gatling guns would have been little more use, with only two of us to wield them.

So we sat waiting as the shadows lengthened and the blue dusk crept in. I occupied the time by bringing my journal up to date. I had just reached the line 'only two of us' when a sudden recollection made me drop my pen. 'Where the devil is Ramses?' I asked.

'Language, Peabody, language,' said Emerson, grinning. 'He is in the garden with the cat.'

'Well, get him in here at once. We must stand together.'

Ramses, sans cat, came into the room. 'I am here, Mama. But I do not believe - '

'Never mind what you believe. Go and change into your suit.'

'There is not time,' said Ramses calmly.

'What do you - '

'Peabody.' Emerson held up his hand. 'Listen.'

Ramses had heard them first, of course. The murmur of sound quickly grew into a full-fledged... chorus? They were singing, certainly, and the twang and tootle of musical instruments accompanied the voices. Before I could decide whether this was a good omen or the reverse, the curtains were drawn aside and the musicians trotted in, singing or wailing at the tops of their voices and strumming enthusiastically. They were followed by a band of officials - I recognised two who had attended the banquet - and three women. I stared at the latter with unabashed curiosity, for they were the first females I had seen who were neither handmaidens nor slaves.

I was given no time to study them, for the whole group advanced upon us, waving various objects. I took them to be weapons of assault and reached for my belt. A flame wavered and brightened, followed by others. Mentarit - one of the handmaidens, at any rate - was gliding around the room lighting the lamps. In their glow I saw that the faces of the newcomers were friendly and smiling and that they held not weapons but combs, brushes, pots and vases, and piles of linen.

The women gathered around me; the men surrounded Ramses and Emerson. 'Now see here,' Emerson said indignantly.

'I believe they only want us to tidy up, Emerson,' I said. One of the women had uncorked a pot and thrust it under my nose; it smelled powerfully of some aromatic herb. Another displayed a filmy linen robe.

'That is precisely what I am objecting - ' A sneeze interrupted the speech; I could not see my husband, for he was surrounded, but I deduced he too had been offered a sniff at the sweet-scented oil. Realising the futility of a struggle, he allowed himself to be led away, but I could hear him long after I lost sight of him.

The women escorted me to the bath, where several of the slaves awaited us. One of them was a young man; when busy hands began to pluck at my garments, preparatory to removing them, I objected, but it was not until Mentarit joined us and translated that the women understood. With giggles and tolerant smiles they dismissed the youth. I needed no translation to comprehend their attitude. To them he was not a man at all, only an animal.

Yet their faces and forms indicated that Emerson had been right when he spoke of interbreeding between the two peoples. They were handsome enough, but so would the rekkit have been with proper food and a good deal of washing. Their linen robes and their ornaments were of the same style, but not the same quality, as the ones they had brought for me; instead of gold they had bedecked themselves with copper bracelets and strings of beads. I deduced that they were of the lower nobility, perhaps personal attendants to the women of the princely ranks. Certainly they were skilled at their job. They doused me and dried me and rubbed me with fragrant oils; one of them wove my hair into an elaborate coiffure of braids and waves, fastening it in place with gold-headed pins.

I have seldom been so distracted. Part of my mind was taking it all in, making detailed notes about the toilette. Another part wondered whether this elaborate ceremony might be the prelude to another, far less comfortable; and a third speculated on how poor Emerson was taking it, for I did not doubt he and Ramses were undergoing similar attentions.

When the ladies started draping me in the filmy white robe I waved them back. They watched with bemused smiles while I located my combinations and put them on. The effect was a trifle odd, I suppose, but I absolutely refused to appear in public wearing only sheer linen that showed everything underneath.

When I was ready, complete with a dainty little golden diadem and bracelets, necklaces, and armlets of heavy gold, sandals were strapped upon my feet. The soles were of leather, but the upper portion consisted only of narrow bands encrusted with the same blue and red-brown stones that covered the jewellery. I had dire forebodings about my ability to walk in the cursed things, and indeed, when they led me back into the reception chamber I had to shuffle to keep from tripping.

Emerson and Ramses were waiting. Ramses looked little different, except for the richness of his ornaments, which were, like mine, of heavy gold. But Emerson! I bitterly regretted that he had not allowed me to bring along a photographic device -but even that would not have captured the full effect of barbaric splendour, the rich glow of gold, the gleam of lapis and turquoise against his skin, which had been oiled till it shone like burnished bronze. His expression suited the costume, for it was that of a warrior prince - dark brows lowering, lips set in a lordly sneer. I risked a quick look at his lower extremities. They were a trifle paler than his arms and breast, but not nearly as white as they had been. Those hours baring his shins to the sun had borne fruit.

'I can't walk in these cursed things, Peabody,' he said, observing the direction of my gaze. He referred to his sandals, which appeared to be of beaten gold with curled-up toes.

'But you look superb, Emerson.'

'Hmph. Well, so do you, Peabody, though I prefer that garment you are, I am happy to observe, wearing under your robe.'

'Please, Emerson,' I said, blushing.

The difficulty about the sandals was soon removed by the appearance of a number of curtained litters, complete with stalwart bearers. I expected Emerson to balk at this, which of course he did; but his remark, as he stood staring at the dark-skinned, heavily muscled men, came straight from his noble heart. 'Bred for this,' he murmured. 'Bred like cattle. Curse it, Peabody...'

'Say no more, Emerson. I am with you heart and soul. But this is not the time to object.'

Emerson climbed awkwardly into one of the litters. Ramses hopped nimbly into another, followed by one of the attendants. I had one of the ladies with me, which was deuced annoying because in her effort to display great respect she refused to sit down, and she kept falling from her knees into my lap. I observed, from peeping between the curtains, that the bearers' legs were moving in perfect unison; still, it was not the most comfortable means of transportation I have ever experienced. As I had expected, we were being borne along the elevated roadway that led from the quarter of the nobles towards the temple. Darkness was almost complete; stars lay pinned like diamond ornaments upon the bosom of the night. A few lights showed from the fine houses on the hillsides above; but the village looked as if a thick black veil had been dropped over it. Curls of mist crossed it like gauzy scarves on a velvet wrap.

I placed my fingers on my wrist and noted, without surprise, that my pulse was a trifle quick. Never mind, I thought; a rapid heartbeat will send the blood rushing more strongly through my veins. We had been treated with great honour and respect, but that was no guarantee that we would survive the night. Again I found myself remembering the ancient Aztecs of America. I shifted position slightly, for the point of my knife was pricking my skin. I had seized the opportunity of secreting it upon my person when I assumed my combinations.

As we went on I resisted my companion's timid attempts to pull me back into seemly seclusion; from the litter ahead of mine I could see Emerson's head protruding through the curtains. The moon had lifted over the cliffs; it was not yet at the full, but in that cold, dry air its light was strong enough to cast a silvery patina over the scene, and it was one no scholar could resist. Moonlight over ancient Thebes! Not the mighty ruins that survive, but the hundred-gated city in its proud prime, with its palaces and monuments untouched by time. A pyloned gateway glided past; a row of Hathor-headed columns formed the portico to some great mansion. Now, on the right, came a broad staircase with couchant sphinxes lining the balustrades; above it towered walls carved with monumental figures. A brighter, ruddier glow brightened the road ahead. I craned my neck to see better, but the litters ahead of mine obscured my view until we were almost upon it: twin pylons soaring high into the heavens, their painted facades lit by flaring torches. Without breaking stride the bearers trotted through them into a court filled with columns like the Hypostyle Hall of Karnak.

At that point my attendant's remonstrations reached the point of hysteria, and since we passed dangerously close to some of the columns I reluctantly withdrew my head. When I next ventured to peek out I realised that the moonlight had disappeared. We were deep in the heart of the mountain, and as we moved on through room after room and passage after passage, I marvelled at the magnitude of the achievement. What multitudes of slaves, what countless centuries had been necessary to achieve such a mighty work?

At last the procession halted and the bearers lowered the litters to the ground. I managed to scramble out, though my trailing draperies got in the way.

Compared to some of the others I had seen, this room was fairly small. Woven hangings covered the walls; a stone-cut bench heaped with cushions ran along one side. The bearers picked up the litters and trotted out the way they had come. The women pounced on me and began straightening my skirts and poking the pins more securely into my hair, like lady's maids preparing their mistress for a state occasion.

I pushed them away and went to Emerson, who stood with one hand on Ramses's shoulder. He held out the other to me. 'Your little hand is frozen, my dear,' he remarked poetically.

'The air is chill.'

'Hmmm, yes. I wonder if -' He broke off as a brazen booming sound reverberated through the room. The chatter and laughter stopped. Our attendants formed into ranks, some before, some behind us. The hangings at one end of the room were lifted by invisible hands. Another great stroke of brass sounded, and the procession started forwards.

'We're for it now, whatever it may be,' Emerson remarked cheerfully. 'I only hope these cursed sandals don't trip me up.' I squeezed his hand.

The corridor we entered was broad but short, no longer than ten or twelve feet. At its farther end were other hangings, of such fine linen that the light shone through them, bringing out the rich patterns of embroidery that adorned them. They parted as we approached. Emerson tripped, but caught himself and went on. 'Good Gad,' I heard him mutter.

They were my sentiments exactly. We were in the innermost sanctuary of the temple - a vast, high chamber of noble dimensions. Columns divided the area into three aisles; down the widest, central aisle we marched in solemn silence, staring in wonderment at what lay ahead.

Strange as the sight was, it was not completely unfamiliar, for the temple was laid out on the same plan as those in Egypt. After passing through the pyloned gateway and columned courtyard, we were now in the sanctuary - the abode of the gods to whom the temple was dedicated. Quite often there were three of them, constituting a divine family - Osiris and Isis and their son Horus; or Amon, his consort Mut, and their son Khonsu. There were three statues in the niches at the end of this sanctuary, but they were not one of the usual triads. On the left was the seated form of a woman crowned with curving horns and holding a naked infant to her breast - Isis, suckling the young Horus. The statue must have been quite old, for the features of the divine mother were delicately carved, with none of the crudeness typical of Meroitic or Late Egyptian work.

The right-hand niche contained another familiar form, the rigid, mummiform shape of Osiris, ruler of the Westerners (i.e., the dead) whose death and resurrection offered hope of immortality to his worshippers. But the third member of the group, who occupied the central position of greatest importance, had no place in that divine family. It stood a good twenty feet high. Its tall, twin-plumed crown and the sceptre it held in its raised hand were of gold gleaming with enamel and precious stones.

'By heaven, it's our old friend Amon-Re,' said Emerson, as coolly as if he were studying a statue he had dug up from a four-thousand-year-old grave. 'Or Aminreh, as they call him here. Not in his usual form, but showing the attributes of Min, who is the one with the enormous -'

'Quite,' I replied. 'Oh, Emerson - I am not at all comfortable about this. I believe we are about to be sacrificed. Sun worshippers have a habit of sacrificing people, and Amon - '

'Don't be absurd, Peabody. Those trashy novels you read are weakening your brain.'

So vast were the dimensions of the temple that it required this length of time to reach the space before the high altar - for an altar was there, ominously stained with dark streaks. The procession stopped; our attendants retreated, fading into the ranks of the priests who filled both of the side aisles.

I had just observed the chairs that stood on either side of the altar when two men entered and took possession of them. One was Tarek, the other his brother. I tried to catch Tarek's eye, but he stared stonily ahead. Nastasen was scowling; he looked like a sulky child.

A long silence followed. Emerson began to fidget; he dislikes formal ceremonies of any kind, and he was itching to break ranks and have a closer look at the carvings on the walls and the altar. As for me, I found enough of interest in the scene to prevent me from growing impatient. None of the divine statues from ancient Egypt had survived in their original condition; these were all brightly painted, and certain elements, such as the beard on the chin of Amon and the crook and flail held by Osiris, were separate pieces of wood or precious metal. Now that my eyes had adjusted, I saw the wall behind the statues was not blank, as I had supposed, but pierced by several doorways. The niche in which Amon stood was deeper and darker than the other two. As I stared, narrowing my eyes, I seemed to see a hint of movement there.

At last the distant sound of music broke the silence. The shrill piping of flutes mingled with the mournful mooing of oboes; the ripple of harp strings was punctuated by the soft throbbing of drums. From an entrance at the back of the sanctuary the musicians entered, followed by priests robed in pure white, their shaven skulls shining in the lamplight. Murtek and Pesaker walked side by side, and although Pesaker's stride was longer and firmer, the older man managed to keep pace with him, though he had to break into a trot every few steps to do so. A veritable cloud of white draperies followed - the handmaidens, whirling in a solemn dance. I tried to count them, but I kept losing track as they circled and crossed in complex patterns. Their movements were dizzying; it was not until they stopped before the altar in a final whirl of fabric that I realised the pattern of the dance had circled around one individual, which now seated itself upon a low stool. Like the others, it was swathed entirely in white, but these draperies glittered with threads of gold.