The Last Camel Died at Noon (30 page)

'Yes, but circumstances may have changed,' said Emerson, looking chagrined. 'I don't know how the devil Robin Hood managed to get in here the first time; he may not be able to do it again. I learned quite a lot more about the political situation from Murtek. He said nothing that could be viewed treasonable - his attendants and mine were hanging on every word - but I feel sure he expected me to have sufficient intelligence to understand the implications. You know, of course, that in ancient Egypt the distinctions we make between politics and religion were meaningless. The king was a god and the priests were also state officials.'

'What has that to do with the situation here?'

'It has everything to do with it. Over the centuries, as was the case in Egypt, Amon took over the powers and attributes of other gods - Re, Atum, Min - the one with the enormous - ' 'Yes, Emerson, I am familiar with the process. It is called syncretism.'

'Correct. Well, Osiris is the one god Amon could never quite manage to assimilate. The two are so completely different -Amon-Re the great and powerful king of the gods, remote and awe-inspiring; Osiris the suffering redeemer, who died as ordinary mortals do, and who lived again. His devoted wife Isis, the divine mother, also has great popular appeal.

'The other gods - Bes, Bastet, Apedemak, the old lion god of Cush - have their followers here, but only two cults really matter - that of Amon-Re, as represented by that sour-faced old villain Pesaker, and that of Osiris and Isis - whose high priest is our friend Murtek.'

'I see. That explains the strange configuration of the images we saw last night - Aminreh, Isis and Osiris, instead of one of the usual divine families.'

'It also explains the disagreement between Pesaker and the Priestess of Isis over our humble selves.' Emerson stretched, sending muscles rippling under his thin linen shirt. 'Flattering, isn't it, to be fought over by a pair of gods?'

'You mean by their mortal representatives, Pesaker and Murtek - for the High Priestess of Isis undoubtedly spoke for the latter. It is the same old humdrum power struggle, Emerson; do we assume that Amon supports one of the princes and Osiris the other?'

'I wish it were that simple. Both princes must want the support of Amon; it is his priests who determine the choice of the god. Both priests want a prince they can control. I expect there is a good deal of bargaining, bribery, blackmail, and intimidation going on behind the scenes. But that was not the most interesting information I gained today, Peabody. Murtek is a sly old fox - he would not have survived in this hotbed of intrigue if he were not - but as he walked me to the door he dropped a remark that went through me like a jolt of electric current.'

'Well?' I demanded.

The curtain of green vines behind us rustled. It was only a breeze, which caressed my cheeks gently, but Emerson took my hand and raised me to my feet. 'Let us stroll, Peabody.'

'It is unworthy of you to prolong the suspense this way, Emerson!'

'I don't want to be overheard.' Emerson put his arm around my waist and drew me closer. 'Peabody - there is another white man here!'

Emerson had to stifle my questions by drawing me behind a flowering shrub and placing his lips firmly on mine. It was a refreshing interlude in every sense, and when at last I was free to speak I was able to appreciate why he had acted as he had.

'You didn't pursue the matter - ask who the man was, and where he lives?' I whispered.

Emerson shook his head. 'Murtek went on talking, with scarcely a pause, and the cursed courtiers gathered around us. It was very craftily done, a casual reference to something the other white man" had told him recently; even if it had been overheard, it might have been no more than a slip of the tongue.'

'Could it be Willoughby Forth after all? If they lied about his death -'

Emerson cut off my voice by squeezing the breath out of me. 'Keep calm, Peabody, I beg you. I believe that to be highly unlikely. You have forgotten another candidate.'

'Of course,' I breathed.

I had not forgotten poor Reggie Forthright, and I trust the Reader has not. We had discussed his sad fate on several occasions, but had been forced to trust in Fate, the Good Lord, and the military (not necessarily in that order) for his deliverance, since there was nothing we could do. Now the truth burst upon me like a blinding revelation and I wondered why the possibility had not occurred to me earlier.

'The wild men of the desert,' I said. "The same "wild men" who succoured us, perhaps ? But we saw no trace of him along the way.'

'He could have been off course by as little as fifty yards and we would have missed those traces. Inept as he was in all other ways, I would not be surprised to learn that he could not read a compass. Don't count on its being your friend, though, Peabody. Many people were reported killed or missing during the Mahdist rebellion.'

'No matter who it is, we must see him. I think you are right, Emerson; dear old Murtek meant us to know this, and to act upon it. But how?'

One of the ladies appeared at the entrance to the garden. Emerson directed such a hideous scowl at her that she squealed and retreated. 'Thus far fortune seems to favour the bold. In other words, I shall simply demand to be taken to "the other white man." We'll see what comes of it.'

The lady had come to tell us Ramses had been found - or rather, had returned of his own accord. He was seated at the table finishing off the food left from luncheon and feeding scraps to the cat. The cat was sleek and clean as ever; the boy was covered with dust and cobwebs. When I ordered him to go and wash, he protested that he had washed - his hands. Upon inspection they proved to be several degrees cleaner than the rest of him, so I did not insist.

'Where have you been?' I asked. 'We have been looking all over for you.'

Ramses stuffed a huge piece of bread in his mouth and waved a hand towards the back part of the building. I took this to mean that he had been engaged in his self-appointed project of copying the wall paintings and inscriptions. I gave him a stern lecture on table manners - for his had deteriorated markedly under the influence of our attendants - and on the rudeness of hiding from people who were searching for him.

Emerson had gone at once to the guards to put his plan into effect. He returned, scowling and muttering.

'They prevented you from leaving?' I asked.

'Not at all.' Emerson dropped heavily onto a chair. 'They professed not to understand what I was talking about.'

'Perhaps they did not, Emerson. The poor fellow may be a closely guarded prisoner.'

'Or a figment of my imagination,' Emerson muttered, fingering the cleft in his chin. 'No; no, confound it, the words were perfectly clear. Now what do we do?'

Ramses requested elucidation, and his father obliged. 'Most interesting,' said Ramses, fingering his own chin. 'It would seem to me that one might now request - or demand - information from someone higher in authority.'

'Precisely what I was about to suggest,' I said. 'One of the princes?'

'Both of them,' said Ramses.

So we put our heads together and composed a miniature Rosetta Stone, with the message in both English and Meroitic. Once we had settled the phraseology to our mutual satisfaction, I made a copy, and Emerson carried both of them to the guards.

'No difficulty about that, at any rate,' he said upon returning. 'I was assured they would be promptly delivered. Now all we can do is wait.'

'I am getting very tired of saying and doing that,' I declared. 'Waiting is not our style, Emerson. I yearn to act. A bold stroke, a coup d'etat - '

'I suppose you could march into the village waving your parasol and call the rekkit to arms,' Emerson replied, reaching for his pipe.

'Sarcasm does not become you, Emerson. I am quite serious. There must be some way we can increase our prestige, inspire awe and terror... Emerson! Is there by chance an eclipse of the sun imminent?'

Emerson took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at me. 'How the devil should I know, Peabody? An almanac is not standard equipment on an African expedition.'

'I should have thought of it,' I said regretfully. 'From now on I will make certain I carry one. It would be so convenient -an eclipse, I mean.'

'So would the arrival of the Camel Corps with pennons flying,' remarked Emerson, upon whose sense of humour delay seemed to have a deleterious effect. 'Curse it, Peabody, astronomical effects don't occur so conveniently, and total eclipses of the sun are fairly uncommon. What put such a fool notion into your head?'

Twice during the afternoon I went to the anteroom to ask if there had been a message for us. I was assured that when such a thing arrived it would be promptly delivered. Emerson's calm, as he wrote busily in his journal, only increased my impatience, and I was pacing the floor, hands behind my back, when finally I heard the slap of sandals and ringing of weapons that betokened the approach of the guards - not one, but several, to judge by the sounds.

'At last!' I cried. 'The message!'

Emerson rose to his feet, his eyes narrowing. 'Not a single messenger, by the sound of it. Perhaps Tarek has come himself.'

The curtain was thrust aside by the blade of a spear and two soldiers entered, dragging a third person between them. A cruel shove sent the prisoner staggering forwards. Unable to break his fall because his hands were bound behind his back, he dropped to his knees and toppled forwards, collapsing at my feet.

The prisoner was, of course, Reggie Forthright. His suit was crumpled and faded, and he was now the possessor of a heavy beard. Except for paler skin, which spoke of a long period of close confinement, he appeared healthy enough; indeed, if anything, his face was rather full. Lack of exercise might be responsible, but again I was reminded of the hideous rites of the ancient Americans, who fattened their prisoners for sacrifice.

Emerson rolled his eyes heavenward and sat down again. I knelt by the fallen man and... But a description of my actions would, I fear, be repetitious. Before long Reggie was seated and partaking of some wine to restore his strength.

Questions poured from my lips, only to be met by an equal flood of questions from Reggie. It was some time before we could attain a degree of calm that permitted coherent statements.

Reggie insisted that first I describe our journey and what had befallen us since. Emerson showed signs of increasing impatience as my narrative proceeded; after I had described our visit to the village, and the rescue of the woman and child, he cut me off. 'You are getting hoarse, Peabody. Let Mr Forthright tell us his story.'

Reggie admitted, in his engaging way, that he had promptly got lost. 'At least I must have done, Mrs Amelia, for I never saw the landmarks you described. I thought nothing of it at the time, for like the professor here I always doubted the accuracy of my poor uncle's map. But after hearing of your journey... It is unaccountable! I am not so stupid as to misread a compass.'

'Not so unaccountable, perhaps,' I said thoughtfully. 'Your copy of the map may have been in error.'

'I assure you,' Reggie began.

'Never mind that,' said Emerson. 'If you failed to find the first of the landmarks, why didn't you turn back?'

'Well, you see, we did find water on the fourth day out, at which time we still had ample supplies for the return trip. It was only an abandoned well, which required considerable clearing before it was usable; but it gave us more time, you see. We had none of the misadventures you experienced, the camels were healthy and the men cheerful and willing. I determined, therefore, to continue for another day or two. I felt I could leave no stone unturned.'

'Very admirable,' I said warmly. 'So when was it that you were attacked?'

Reggie shook his head. 'It is all a blur, Mrs Amelia. I was ill afterwards... They struck at dawn. I remember only being roused from sleep by shouts and groans, and rushing out of my tent to see my men in full flight. I can't blame them; they were armed only with knives, and the fiends who pursued them had great iron spears, and bows and arrows.'

'You had a rifle, I believe,' said Emerson, chewing on his pipe.

'Yes, and I managed to dispatch a few of the devils before they overwhelmed me,' said Reggie, a look of grim satisfaction hardening his affable face. 'I fought all the more fiercely when I realised they were bent on capturing rather than killing me. A quick death would have been preferable to slavery. But 'twas in vain. A blow on the head struck me down, and I must have been unconscious for days. I remember nothing of the journey here.'

'Nor what happened to your men?' Emerson asked.

Reggie shrugged. 'Some of them may have got away - only to die miserably of thirst, I suppose. But now it is your turn again, Mrs Amelia - how long have you been captives here? What plans have you made for escape? For knowing you and the professor, I cannot believe that you would accept imprisonment meekly.'

'You have a rather theatrical way of putting things, Mr Forthright,' said Emerson. 'This place is an archaeologist's dream; I would be reluctant to tear myself away before I had made a thorough study of the fascinating survivals of Meroitic culture. We have not been treated like prisoners, but like honoured guests. And then, you see there is the little matter of our primary reason for coming - to discover the fate of your uncle and his wife.'

'They are dead,' said Reggie quietly. 'God rest them.'

'How do you know?'

'He told me.' Reggie tried to control his voice, but anger and erief distorted his face. 'Laughing like the fiend he is as he described their lingering, painful deaths by torture...'

'Nastasen?' I cried.

'Who?' Reggie stared at me. 'No. It was your friend Kemit -who is known here as Prince Tarekenidal, and in whose dungeons I have been imprisoned all these long terrible weeks.'

The interruption of Reggie's story was not occasioned by his overwhelming emotions or by any literary trick of mine, but rather by the reappearance of the servants, who began preparing the evening meal. Emerson ordered them to find quarters for the newcomer and went along to interpret, for Reggie admitted he had learned very little of the language. Shortly afterwards one of the guards came in carrying a knapsack, which I recognised as Reggie's; I sent one of the servants to take it to him.