The Last Camel Died at Noon (44 page)

The interior of the statue must not have been cleaned in years. Cobwebs festooned Ramses's hair (what there was of it) and his kilt was filthy. I saw the distinct print of someone's sandal on his stomach, which probably helped to explain his silence. I shook him. 'Are you injured, Ramses?'

'Whoop,' said Ramses, trying to catch his breath.

Pistol at the ready, I turned to see if Emerson was in need of my assistance, and found he was managing nicely. He must have been taking fencing lessons on the sly, for his skill had improved considerably since that never-to-be-forgotten day when he had fought the Master Criminal for my humble self. In fact, I felt sure he could have put an end to his opponent quite handily if he had not been trying to incapacitate rather than kill the man.

One of our defenders fell, splashing my boots with his blood. Another bullet from my trusty little pistol put his killer hors de combat. Hastily I reloaded. The battle was waxing hot. I saw Tarek, his diadem bristling with red feathers, trying to fight his way towards his brother, who had taken refuge behind the throne. A fierce struggle seethed before it, where Nastasen's loyal guardsmen battled to hold off an attacking force of rebels. Even Pesaker had drawn his sword and entered the fray.

But in all that shrieking, clashing, groaning battle, there was one focus of quiet: the curtained kiosk at the back of the colonnade. Before it stood the Hand, leaning on his great spear. No one came near him; it was as if he and the structure he guarded were enclosed by an invisible, impenetrable wall.

The carnage was frightful. Twisted bodies and puddles of spilled blood covered the floor. Who was winning? I could not tell. Many of the valiant on both sides had fallen. It was a tragic, a terrible waste. Sick at heart, I yearned to succour the wounded and comfort the widow and orphan.

I do not know whether it was the same noble aim that inspired Tarek, or the fear that he might be losing. I prefer to believe it was the former. Beating down the last of his immediate attackers, he raised his voice over the sounds of combat. 'Too many brave men have died for you, my brother, while you hide behind the throne you wrongly claimed. Come forth and fight me man-to-man for the prize. Or are you afraid?'

Silence fell, broken only by the moans of the wounded and the panting breaths of the fighters as they lowered their swords and awaited Nastasen's response. On the faces of many I saw the lust of battle replaced by a deadly sickness and horror. This had truly been a fratricidal struggle, friend against friend, brother against brother.

Emerson's blade was crimson to the hilt. I could not truly regret his actions, for the men he had killed had been intent on slaughtering us, but I could and did regret the sad necessity. Not all the blood that stained his garments was that of his opponents. A glancing blow had laid his cheek open to the bone; he would have a nasty scar unless I could stitch it up soon. Of the other wounds that had marked him, the worst seemed to be one on his forearm. It was bleeding heavily. I returned my pistol to the holster and took out the square of linen I used as a handkerchief.

'I seem to have ruined another shirt,' remarked Emerson, as I reached for him. 'Not my fault this time, Peabody.'

'I cannot complain, my dear, when your rents and your wounds were incurred in our defence. Let me tie up your arm.'

'Don't fuss, Peabody. This is not over yet. I want to see what... Ah, here comes Nastasen. He could hardly refuse the challenge, but he looks like a man on the way to visit his dentist, doesn't he?'

The spectators had fallen back, leaving an aisle between Tarek and his brother. Tarek was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but his bearing was kingly and a grim smile touched his lips. The contrast between the two - one marked by the scars of honourable battle, the other in his pristine and delicate robes -brought a murmur from the watchers, and not all came from Tarek's followers. It may have been the realisation that he was losing the loyalty of his men that fired Nastasen's courage; it may have been his brother's visible contempt, or the hope that Tarek was worn and weak from loss of blood. Nastasen un-fastened his jewelled girdle and threw it and his robe aside. 'I have no weapon,' he said. 'Kill me, defenceless and unarmed, if you will - brother.'

Tarek gestured to one of his men. 'Give him your sword.'

Nastasen took it, with an ironic bow towards the giver. He made a few passes, as if testing the balance and weight; then, without warning, he rushed at Tarek. Tarek had no time to parry; only an agile leap to the side saved him.

The spectators closed in, jostling one another for a better look, like men watching some sporting event. It was a disgusting display of the savagery that lies palpitating in the male breast, and it also prevented me from watching the duel. Ramses climbed onto a chair and stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads of the audience. I caught his arm. 'Get down from there this instant, and stay close by me. If I lose you again I will punish you severely. Emerson, will you... Oh, curse it! Where has your father gone?'

'There,' said Ramses, pointing.

Emerson had rushed to join the audience. His head kept bobbing up and down and he was shouting advice which I fear was lost on Tarek. Words like 'feint' and 'lunge' could have meant little to him.

The business went on a great deal longer than I had expected, and I began to grow anxious. The clang of meeting blades and the shouts and groans of the watchers were the only clues I had as to what was going on. I did not doubt Tarek's superior skill and courage but his brother was fresh and unwounded. If Tarek fell, what would happen to us? I hope I will not be considered self-serving if I admit that I began to consider possible courses of action.

Glancing around, I realised that Ramses and I were alone. The guards had gone to watch the fight, and Reggie... When had he left us? Had he joined the strife? He was nowhere to be seen. The mysterious kiosk now appeared to be unoccupied; at any rate, the Hand no longer stood before it.

A great shout went up from the spectators. A mighty blow, perhaps a mortal blow, had been struck - but by whom? Cursing my lack of inches, I scrambled up onto the chair. With that advantage I could see the head of one combatant. Only one was still on his feet. My heart plummeted, for the face was that of Nastasen. And then - ah, then! I saw the gush of blood from his open mouth, saw him stiffen and fall; I saw Tarek rise to his full height after the mighty lunge that had dispatched his enemy. For a moment he stood victorious, streaming with blood, the valiant feathers of his headdress slashed and broken. Then his eyes closed and he fell fainting into the press of arms and bodies.

I jumped off the chair and ran towards him, dragging Ramses by the arm. Other mothers may condemn me; the sight I expected to see was certainly not suitable for the eyes of a young lad. But those mothers have never had to deal with a young lad like Ramses. I was afraid to let him out of my sight for an instant.

With his enthusiastic cooperation and the aid of my trusty parasol I forced a path through the crowd and beat his admirers off the fallen form of our princely friend. As I had hoped, he was not dead; a nip of brandy from the flask at my belt soon brought him around, and the first sight his opening eyes beheld was Ramses, who was bending over him breathing anxiously into his face. 'Ah, my young friend,' he said with a faint smile. 'We have won, and you are a hero. I shall raise a monument to you in the court of the temple - '

'Save your strength,' I said firmly, giving him another sip of brandy. 'If you will have your men carry you to your home, I will come and tend your wounds.'

'Later, Lady - though I thank you. There is much to do be-fore I can rest.' He lifted himself up and stood erect. 'But where is the Father of Curses? I would thank him too, for his words of wisdom and deeds of daring won many to my standard.'

I am ashamed to confess that I quite lost my head once I realised Emerson had vanished. I ran to and fro calling him, turning over fallen bodies, staring into ghastly faces. Litter bearers had already begun carrying the wounded from the court; I barred their path, demanding to see for myself it was not Emerson they carried.

'How could he have disappeared?' I cried, wringing my hands. 'He was here a moment ago, unwounded - not severely wounded - at least I thought he was not... Oh, heavens, what has happened to him?'

Tarek put a bloody but gentle hand on my shoulder. 'Fear not, Lady. We will find him, and if he has been harmed I will kill his abductors with my royal hand.'

'A fine help that will be,' I exclaimed. 'Now do stop shouting, everyone, and be calm. He can't have vanished into thin air. Someone must have seen something! Who could have taken him? For I will never believe he left of his own accord without telling me.'

'Not all my brother's allies were slain,' Tarek said slowly. 'They will revenge themselves on me if they can; they have good reason to hate the Father of Curses.'

'They may have taken Reggie too,' I exclaimed. 'Not that I give a curse about him... Murtek! Where have you been hiding?'

The venerable priest came towards us, stepping fastidiously over fallen bodies and holding his skirts high to avoid the pools of blood that stained the floor. 'Behind the throne,' he said, unabashed. 'I do not fight with swords. Now my prince wins, and I come to praise him. Hail to thee, Mighty Horus, ruler of the -'

'Never mind that. You were in a point of vantage, you must have seen something. What has happened to the Father of Curses?'

Murtek's eyes shifted. He licked his lips. 'I did not - '

'Your face betrays you,' I cried, brandishing my parasol. 'What did you see?'

'Speak,' Tarek ordered sternly. 'You are my friend and my loyal supporter, but if you know aught of the Father of Curses and keep silent, I will not protect you from the Lady Who Rages Like a Lioness When Her Cub Is Threatened.'

Murtek swallowed. 'I saw... I saw the guards of the Heneshem carry a litter into the temple. The form upon the litter was covered, even to its face, like a corpse being carried to the embalmers. The Hand... the Hand went beside it.'

It was the strange title Emerson and I had failed to understand. Why comprehension should have come to me then, with the sudden illumination of a lightning bolt, I do not know, but I expect my mental powers were strengthened by intense anxiety. Over the passage of many centuries the words had become slurred and run together, but they were - they could be nothing other than - the ancient title of the High Priestesses of Amon who ruled in Thebes under the pharaohs of the late dynasties. Had not the great Cushite conqueror Piankhi forced the high priestess of his time to adopt his daughter in order to strengthen his claim to the throne of Egypt?

'Hemet netcher Amon,' I repeated, giving the words their modem, stylised pronunciation. 'How could I have been so blind? It was also a title of the queen - her designation as royal heiress, as I have always believed... Not only her divine dignity but her extreme corpulence would necessitate the appointment of surrogates to perform her mundane functions - the Hand to execute criminals, the Voice to express her commands, the - er - the Concubine, that scantily garbed female who made such explicit gestures to the god's statue... She is the true power behind the throne here, the ultimate authority - the queen, the Candace -'

'No, Lady,' said Tarek. 'No. You do not understand.'

'I understand that she has taken my husband, and that is all that matters. Lead me to her at once, Tarek.'

'You cannot... You must not go there, Lady. If the Heneshem has taken him - '

'Must not, to me?' I thundered. 'How dare you, Tarek? Take me there at once.'

Tarek's broad shoulders sagged. 'I cannot refuse you, Lady.

But remember when you see... what you will see... that I tried to spare you.'

Naturally this ambiguous warning only fired my determination to proceed, though it did arouse certain unpleasant images in my mind. What could I see that would be worse than the slaughter I had beheld that day? The lifeless corpse of my spouse - but if they meant to kill him they could have done so, a stab in the back like the cowards they were, while all were intent upon the titanic struggle of the brothers. A scene of slow, painful torture - but if that was their intent, the more need for haste. The God's Wife clinging to Emerson like a gigantic vampire bat, draining the blood from his living veins... I told myself not to be silly. It was not my husband's blood that dreadful woman wanted.

I am sure I hardly need say that even as these thoughts passed through my mind I was hastening towards the inner precincts, urging Tarek along with my parasol. Ramses trotted beside me; bringing up the rear was old Murtek, his apprehension overcome by the insatiable curiosity that was his strongest characteristic.

As we penetrated deeper and deeper into the bowels of the mountain, through corridors dimly lit by smoking lamps, I could hear rustles of furtive motion; and I thought this must be how a cat would feel if he could creep into the tunnels of mice and moles. They would flee before him as the inhabitants of this sunless maze hid from us - uncertain of their fate, and fearing the worst.

As we walked side by side, Tarek spoke in an urgent whisper. 'You must be far distant from this place, Lady, before tomorrow's sun greets the day. The caravan gathers; it will guide you to the oasis and set you safely on your way. I will not ask for a vow of secrecy from you, for I know your word is stronger than another man's oath; I only ask that you keep our secret until I have had time to prepare my people for the inevitable time when the wolves of the outside world fall upon us. You may take what you will - gold, treasure - '

'I don't want your gold, Tarek, I only want my husband - and the girl for whose sake you have endured so much.'

'Yes, Lady, that was why I brought you here, and although her leaving will extinguish a light that brightens my life, the white does not mate with the - '

'Tarek, don't talk nonsense. You are babbling like a nervous actor. What is wrong with you?'

Tarek stopped. The air of the tunnels was chill and clammy, but his face glistened with perspiration. 'Lady, I beg you. Do not go on. I will - I will go, and bring the Father of Curses back to you.'