Guardian of the Horizon (23 page)

I had several ideas of my own, and I did not at all like the one Ramses proposed. He was the only one of us who stood a chance of passing as a native of the Lost Oasis, and the clothing with which we had been provided was appropriate for the role he hoped to assume. But . . . "How do you plan to get out of here unobserved?" I demanded. "You'll have to distract the guards while I slip past them," Ramses said coolly. "I expect I could do that," said Emerson, flexing his hands. "Then what?" "Then I'll find the temple Mother described. There's a good chance the High Priestess's living quarters are connected with it. If I can't find a way in, there's another possibility--the subterranean passages behind the house we occupied before. I can get into the house with no trouble, it's been deserted, and I remember where the entrance is located. If I can find the underground chamber where Nefret first met us, there's got to be a way into her rooms from there." "Too many ifs," I exclaimed. "Good Gad, Ramses, your scheme is foolhardy in the extreme. Nefret's rooms are certainly closely guarded, you will be caught or killed if you try to reachthem by way of the temple. As for going down into the subterranean passages, I strictly forbid it. You could lose your way in that endless maze! And how do you plan to get back into this house?" "I don't mean to come back." He saw my stricken face; kneeling beside me, he took my hands in his. "Mother, you are a realist, or so you claim. Face the facts. One of us must be on the loose. Cooped up like this, our every movement watched, we cannot count on seeing Nefret or communicating with Tarek. And what about your mysterious visitor, who is now missing a shirt button? We need to know who he is and what role he is playing. I may be able to track him down." Emerson cleared his throat noisily. "Don't argue with him, Peabody. He is in the right. It will require some careful planning, however." "Yes." Ramses squeezed my limp hands and rose. "We'll aim for tomorrow night. Mother, don't look at me like that. This isn't as foolhardy as it sounds. The worst that can happen is that I'll be caught in the act--some act or other--and locked up. The king won't be well pleased with you four either, but if he wants our cooperation he won't do anything violent." "Inshallah," I said. "Yes, it is in his hands," remarked Daoud. "I will go with you when you go, Ramses, wherever you go." "And I," said Selim. It required some argument to convince them that their presence would only constitute a greater danger to Ramses. Daoud was slightly consoled by Emerson's promise that he could help "distract" the guards. Ashamed at my brief relapse, I put on a brave face and began one of my little lists. After all, I told myself, it might prove unnecessary. Tomorrow was another day. Something might yet turn up. It was Merasen who turned up, bright and early next morning. We were finishing breakfast and making plans for another excursion when he strolled in, looking as much at home as he had when he visited us in Kent, and garbed with extravagant elegance, from his diadem to his gold-inlaid sandals. Exclaiming with pleasure, he shook hands with Ramses and Emerson--who allowed the liberty, but with the look of a man who had taken hold of a rotten fish. "So, are you pleased with your rooms?" he inquired solicitously. "Is there anything you require?" "Yes, there is," said Ramses, before his father could voice a ruder response. "Some straight talk, Merasen. Do you know that expression?" "Yes, I heard it often in England," said Merasen, grinning. He selected a date from the plate of fruit. "It obviously didn't make much of an impression," Emerson muttered. "We received you as an honored guest, and you lied to us and deceived us. You also betrayed Tarek. Wasn't it from him that you learned English?" "I was one of the children of the palace, taught with the royal children," Merasen admitted. "Tarek himself favored me because I was clever and quick to learn. Others were not. My brothers . . ." He laughed and shrugged. "You have seen them. Worthy and brave, but not clever. He told us stories about you, like the stories of the gods--about the beauty of the High Priestess, and the strength of the Father of Curses, and about the Sitt Hakim, who could fight like a man and smile like a woman. How could I say no when there came the chance to see you for myself?" The sheer brazenness of the excuse left all of us without words for a moment. Then Emerson said, "What of your loyalty to Tarek?" "I am loyal to my father. I could not be loyal to both." "Outflanked again," Emerson muttered. "I have done nothing wrong," Merasen insisted. "You wanted to come back to the Holy Mountain. For years you wanted to come back, I heard you say so. And now that you are here you are honored, and my father will reward you with rich gifts." Emerson waved his hand in front of his face, as if brushing away a persistent fly. "Now see here," he began. "Let me ask a few questions, Father," Ramses cut in. "Go ahead, my boy. I don't seem to be getting anywhere." "You say you have done nothing wrong," Ramses addressed Merasen. "What's your excuse for murdering Ali?" "Ali dead? My friend Ali?" Merasen's eyes opened wide. "How? I grieve for him." "It wasn't you who cut his throat?" Ramses persisted. "He was alive when I left him. But very drunk." Merasen's grief had been short-lived. He gave Ramses a man-to-man smile. "You stole the map from Nefret." "No, that was not I. Why do you speak of the past? It is finished. Let us speak of the future, and what I can do for you and you can do for me." "You know what you can do for us," Ramses said through tight lips. Even his controlled temper was beginning to fray. "Make it possible for us to leave the Holy Mountain, with Nefret. What do you want in return?" "Guns," said Merasen promptly and unexpectedly. "You stole ours," Ramses said, visibly taken aback. "Not enough." Merasen reached for the last date, but Daoud got it first. Merasen scowled. "Send these servants away so we may talk in private." "They are not servants, but friends," Emerson said. "We have no secrets from them. Say what you have to say." As Emerson later remarked, the ensuing conversation was illuminating. "My father still believes in the old ways, the edge of the sword and the skill of the archer," said Merasen. "But I saw the guns when the soldiers attacked the slavers, and I knew that fifty men with guns could conquer a kingdom such as this. I could not carry so many back with me, even if I had had gold enough to buy them. So . . ." He shrugged and smiled his engaging smile. "So you lured us here with the lie about Tarek," I said. "But your original purpose was not to acquire weapons, was it? That was an afterthought." "A good thought," Merasen said complacently. "I was sent to bring the High Priestess back to the Temple of Isis. The people are restless. When they see her take her rightful place, in the temple andin the palace, they will submit." He shrugged again. "So my father believes. As for me, I believe in guns. Fifty at least." "It will take months for us to go and return," Emerson said. "By that time Tarek may have reconquered the city." A flash of some quickly overcome emotion brightened the boy's dark eyes. He waved a negligent hand. "It is what you call stalemate. Tarek has enough men to hold his own territory, but he is a weakling, he will not risk their lives to retake the city." "And your father has not enough men to force the pass and conquer Tarek?" I asked. "Is that it?" Merasen shrugged, and Ramses said, "Your brothers--your older brothers--are strong, able men. Why is it that you, the youngest, have been raised over them?" This was apparently not a tactful question. Merasen jumped to his feet. "We have talked enough. What is your decision?" "We will think it over," Ramses said. "You'll have to give us additional guarantees, Merasen. I wouldn't trust your word if you swore on every god in the Holy City." "We will meet again soon," Merasen said, no longer smiling. "And perhaps--another wrestling match?" "Any time," Ramses said. "Well, well," said Emerson, after the door had closed behind our visitor. "I now know what Merasen's title is, or should be: Chief Liar of the King. He can't even stick to a single story. I felt as if I were trying to nail down a gust of wind." "I wonder if we are doing him an injustice," Ramses said slowly. "We are judging him by the standards of our own culture, which is not his. He may honestly believe he has not acted against his own moral code." "Oh, come," Emerson exclaimed. "There is no culture with which I am familiar, including that of ancient Egypt, that does not condemn murder." "We can't prove he killed Ali," Ramses argued. His father gave him a critical look. "You are leaning over backward to be fair because you dislike the fellow so much. It is an admirable quality for a clergyman, but it is damned impractical. "At any rate," Emerson continued, "he confirmed our theory about Tarek's whereabouts. He is holding out in the northern part of the valley, and as we saw, neither side can force the pass without considerable losses. Guns in the hands of Zekare--" "He doesn't want weapons for his father," Ramses said flatly. "I think he has his eye on the throne. He might be able to pull it off if he had our enthusiastic cooperation, and enough modern weapons-- and Nefret." "What?" I cried. "He didn't say so in so many words, but it was implicit in his reference to her place in the temple and in the palace. The High Priestess does not serve for life; like the handmaidens, she is married off after a certain time. And she would remain here, as hostage, while we returned to the Sudan to get the damned weapons. Would you care to speculate on what would happen to her while we were away?" "No," said Emerson through his teeth. "I would not. What the devil, Ramses, one minute you are trying to make out a case for Merasen and the next minute--" "I was simply considering all the possibilities." "Well, don't," snapped Emerson. "We aren't leaving Nefret here, no matter who promises what." "There's a chance for us in that scheme, though," I said hopefully. "If we are allowed to get a caravan together, we can snatch Nefret away at the last minute and make a run for it." "Hotly pursued by soldiers, some of them armed with our rifles?" Ramses inquired caustically. "And what about Tarek? And the rekkit? Sorry, Mother, but it's back to my original plan. We may have to start--and win--a civil war before we can get away with Nefret. Are you ready to go out? A bit more reconnoitering would seem to be in order." Emerson followed me into my room. "Peabody, my dear," he began. "Emerson, he is only a boy--barely twenty. You must forbid him to do this!" "He is the only one of us who can do it," said Emerson, taking me into his arms. "He may be young in years, but he's proved himself more than once. There is a great deal at stake, my love. Don't cry. It will be all right." "I am not crying. I am simply annoyed with Ramses for taking so much on himself." We made our way directly to the temple area, and I pointed out the small shrine where I had been the previous night. It was a miniature version--a condensed version, one might say--of the larger temples, with a single columned courtyard, an antechamber, and the inner room where the ceremony had taken place. In Egyptian temples the innermost shrine was usually small, just large enough to contain the divine statue. Such was not the case here, as we had observed. "Why don't we just march up there and ask to see the High Priestess?" I suggested. "Barge straight ahead? I like the idea," said Emerson, fingering the cleft in his chin. Ramses was already halfway up the steep causeway, with two of the guards in agitated pursuit. They had to run like fury to get ahead of him. He stopped when they blocked his path, and as we joined him I heard him expostulating. Had not the king given us permission to go where we liked? We intended to pay our respects to the goddess and her priestess, who was his sister and the daughter of the Father of Curses. How dare they interfere with the Great Ones? "Reminds me of the time we insisted on visiting the cemetery, and the captain of the guard was torn between violating his orders and interfering with us," remarked Emerson, listening with interest to the debate between Ramses and the officer in charge of the detachment. "I wonder what has become of Harsetef? I gave him one of my pipes as a memento." "Yes, my dear, I remember. Ah, Ramses. Have you won your point?" "I bullied him into letting us go up to the facade," Ramses replied. "It would be all his life is worth to let us enter." "A happy thought," said Emerson. "I don't care for this fellow's tone. Harsetef, now--" "This fellow and the others are Merasen's personal guard, Father. He's won them over by bribes or promises of promotion, and it would be a waste of breath to argue with them. Let's take what advantage we can." We inspected the front and two sides of the temple. There were paved walkways on either side, which ended abruptly in solid walls of stone. "Curse it," I said, as we returned to the facade. "I was afraid of that. The inner apartments are rock-cut into the cliffs. You haven't a chance of getting in there, Ramses." "Not necessarily true, Mother. Look up. No, don't stare! Just a casual glance." The cliff face over and behind the roof of the temple had been cut back and smoothed. There were several openings, black against the golden glow of the rock--squared-off openings, obviously man-made. I hadn't seen them the night before. I looked from them--twenty feet or more above the roof--to the intent face of my son, and my heart sank. "You don't know for sure that they are the windows of the apartments of the High Priestess," I muttered. "They must be. One couldn't keep a woman immured for years without access to air and light. There's something up there, anyhow." He nudged his father, who had ignored his admonition, and was staring fixedly. "The cliff face is as smooth as glass," said Emerson in a flat voice. "Not really, Father. Come, let's go on. Our escort isn't liking this." "Where now?" I asked. "The village. They aren't going to like that, either." Several flights of steep stairs led down from the roadway to the floor of the valley, where the rekkit village was located. We took the nearest. Emerson, who obviously enjoyed tormenting our guards, gave them no chance to stop us; he pushed past the foursome who were in advance and started down. The steps were so narrow and Emerson is so large that once he was on them no one could get past,and he ignored the officer's impassioned demands that he stop. We all followed, single file, with Ramses behind me holding me firmly by the coattail and Daoud bringing up the rear and the officer shouting loudly and ineffectually. Like most villages, this one had grown