Guardian of the Horizon (30 page)

The sun was high and bright when Ramses woke. His watch had stopped. He had forgotten to wind it last night. He got carefully to his feet, so as not to disturb the sleeping girl, and tucked the robe that had been their only covering back around her. He stayed longer than he needed to in the dead garden, looking aimlessly for a possible source of food or drink. There were birds' nests in the withered vines. He didn't bother looking for eggs. They weren't that desperate yet. When he went back she was awake. Her eyes moved slowly over him, from bare head to bare feet. She pushed the covering aside and stretched like a cat, her muscles moving smoothly under her pale skin. His response was instantaneous and uncontrollable; when she saw, she smiled and held up her arms. "Later," Ramses said. His throat was dry. "With you it is always 'later.' " "Not always." "No." She drew the vowel out into a long sigh and closed her eyes. "Was it pleasing to you? Do you still want me?" He sat down beside her and took her hands. "You know the answer to that." She opened her eyes. They were bright with laughter. "Yes, I know." He raised her hands to his lips, laughing with her, wonderingwhat right he had to feel so happy. "You must have something to drink, Daria. There is a little water left. And I want to look at your feet." He spared a few precious drops of water to wash the encrusted dirt and blood away. One of the cuts was deep. She must have stepped on a sharp stone. "I should have carried you," he said remorsefully, cradling the little feet in his hands. "Or not bullied you into coming with me. I didn't really give you a chance to refuse, did I?" "I would rather be here than there." "So would I rather you were. Now, none of that! Those cuts need to be disinfected. I only hope I haven't left them too long. Thank God for Mother and her brandy." And the shirt. He tore it up to make bandages. They both had a sip of water and a few dates, and then Ramses reached for his trousers. "I want to have a look outside," he explained. "And you feel powerless without clothes? It is quite otherwise." "It's odd, but one does, you know," Ramses said, acknowledging the tribute with a self-conscious smile. "Except in certain circumstances. It's a civilized weakness, I suppose. I won't be long." Carrying the binoculars, he felt his way along the turns of the dark passage, out into the open arcade, and came to a sudden stop, his heart hammering. The object lay on the floor, just inside the door. It looked like a dead animal, dark and huddled. The slant of the rays of sunlight outside told him it was late afternoon. He had slept the whole day away. He couldn't believe his own carelessness. He ought to have been alert and listening, ready to retreat into the underground passages at the first sound of someone approaching. Someone had got this far, at any rate. The object hadn't been there the night before, they would have stumbled over it. And it wasn't an animal. When he investigated the contents of the bundle he felt even guiltier. Everything he had asked for was there. How they had got the things to him so quickly, without being detected, he couldn't imagine. Standing behind one of the pillars, he moved the binoculars in a slow sweep of the valley, from one end of the road to theother. The only signs of unusual activity were around the small Isis temple, which was now surrounded by troops. Daria's absence must have been discovered early that morning, if not before, so why weren't they searching for her? He tied the parcel again and carried it to Daria. They were finally able to drink their fill and eat hungrily of the bread and cheese. Ramses had a feeling he wouldn't relish dates for a long time to come. She was like a different woman, her eyes tender and her laughter gently teasing. They did not speak of her past or their future, only of the moment. The light began to fade and the stars to come out, and they made love as if it were the first and the last time. When he woke her after a short sleep she reached for him and then drew away. "We must go now?" "Soon." Silently she began to dress, pulling the trousers on under her sleeveless robe. He stopped her when she would have put on the heavy stockings and bathed her feet again before he bandaged the deepest cuts. Neither of them spoke until she stood up and stamped her feet into the shoes. "Do they hurt still?" he asked. "Can you walk?" "I can walk." Her voice was dry and hard. "Are you ready?" "Almost." Carefully he gathered the scattered evidences of their presence and tied them into a single bundle. The mice would take care of the food crumbs. He put on the hooded robe and helped her into the lighter, long-sleeved mantle his mother had provided. His hands lingered on her shoulders, but when she moved away from him he knew she was right to do so. They had had their time, and it was over. "Ready," he said. "Take my hand." He made the climb as easy as he could for her, roping her up the steeper slopes and letting her rest as often as he could. Her mute, hard-breathing endurance reminded him (why?) of the time he had climbed up a cliff face to help Nefret down when she hit a bad stretch. She had cursed him royally for taking hold of her. He let out a soft laugh and tightened his grasp on Daria's yielding waist. "You are thinking of her," she said. "I am thinking of how to go from here. It's not far now," he added encouragingly. When he lifted her onto the ledge her knees buckled and she would have fallen if he had not kept hold of her. "Sit down and rest. It's safe, there's plenty of room." Not as much as he had thought. They were waiting for him, under the shelter of the low overhang. "It's all right, they are friends," he said quickly. He had recognized Harsetef's tall, lithe form. The other man was even taller. He came toward Ramses, walking unconcernedly along the very rim of the ledge and gripped Ramses's arms in a soldier's greeting. "Welcome," he said in a voice deepened by emotion. "Thrice welcome! You were a boy when you left me, and now you are a man." He was dressed like a common soldier, with no sign of rank, but Ramses knew him. "Tarek! You shouldn't have come here, it's too risky." "I do not ask my men to take risks I will not take. You have taken even greater risks to bring her to me." He dropped to one knee before Daria's crouching form. "My little sister, whom I loved. You have come back to me." "It isn't Nefret," Ramses said, more loudly than he had intended. Tarek must be blind or bewitched to have mistaken the two, even in the semidarkness. And he was still talking like a character in one of the old-fashioned romantic novels to which he had become addicted. Tarek put out a hand and lifted a strand of dark hair. "No," he said. "I couldn't get to Nefret," Ramses said. The pain in that single word put him on the defensive. "It was impossible, she is too closely guarded. This is Daria. She--" "I know." Tarek got to his feet. "I know all that has befallen you." He sighed heavily. "I should have been prepared. Only a god or a great magician could steal the High Priestess away. Let us go now, we can talk another time. It will be easier from here, lady, with three of us to help you." He raised Daria to her feet. Gallant as ever, Ramses thought. "Two of you," he corrected. Daria didn't look at him. She had expected this. Tarek wasn't surprised either. A gleam of white teeth broke the darkness of his face. "So, you would return to the city? What good could you do?" "My mother and father are still prisoners, and so is Nefret. There is to be a ceremony in the Great Temple in four days. They want my father to proclaim his allegiance to the usurper." "The Father of Curses will never do that," Tarek said calmly. "Have no fear, my young friend. We will free them. I have planned my attack to take place that night." The faint starlight outlined Tarek's strong body and the proud tilt of his head. He had filled out in the last ten years, but he was still slim and fit. "Listen to me," Ramses said urgently. "If you attack, many will die, including my mother and father. The usurper will kill them rather than let them be taken by you. There is another way, a better way." Tarek held out his hand. He was still smiling. "We cannot talk here. Once we are over the pass and in my own country, we will plan together. Then, if you wish to return, I will not stop you." The suggestion made excellent sense. He knew very little about the lay of the land and the strength of Tarek's forces, his defensive strategy, his methods of gathering information--a dozen other things that would prove useful. He couldn't imagine why he was hesitating. "Come," Tarek said. "It will not take us long, I promise." That's why I'm hesitating, Ramses thought. He's talking to me as if I were still ten years old. Maybe I deserve it. This is no time for childish sulks. "You are right," he said. "Let's go." This part of the ascent was even worse than the other--straight up the sheerest part of the cliffs, with only the faintest traces of what might be called a path. Harsetef had brought another rope, and in some places Ramses stamped on his pride and made use of it. He didn't argue when Tarek took charge of Daria, fastening Ramses's rope carefully round her slim waist, holding it taut as she climbed,murmuring words of encouragement and praise. The sun was rising when they reached the top of the ridge and were hailed by three of Tarek's scouts. "Rest awhile," Tarek said. "The descent is easier." Ramses would have liked nothing better than to collapse onto the rocky ground, but a combination of pride and curiosity kept him on his feet. The view was certainly spectacular. The spurs of rock that formed the pass were lower than the enclosing cliffs; the heights rose up ahead and on either side, shaped into fantastic towers. Other outcroppings jutted out around the circumference of the northern valley, like teeth in a gaping mouth. The air was clear that morning; in the distance, perched on the hillside, he saw several large structures that might have been temples or houses. Former country houses, perhaps? The floor of the valley was a pleasant, pastoral place, a green cup in the harsh grasp of the hills. He could even make out the heavy gate that blocked one of the side wadis--a fortress into which the defenders could retreat if necessary. It was no wonder the usurper had been unable to get through the pass. Where it started to widen out, on Tarek's side, it was bounded by stone walls, machicolated like those of a medieval castle. Any attackers who managed to get over the boulders would be funneled into the space between the walls, helpless against the bows and spears of the defenders, and if they tried to scale the heights on either side they would be swept away by a rain of stones and arrows. Tarek wasn't looking at the pass. Feet braced and shoulders thrown back, he watched the swollen red orb of the sun lift over the eastern mountain. "The god comes again," he said softly. Which god? Ramses wondered. Khepri, the beetle, the rising sun, Atum, the setting son, Re, Harakhte of the Horizon? As if he had read Ramses's thoughts, Tarek said, "He has many names but he is One." Ramses knew his father would have leaped on this intriguing theological development. Was Tarek becoming a monotheist? At the moment he didn't give a damn. By the time they reached the roughly built barracks that housed his garrison, Tarek was carrying Daria, and Ramses was wearily attempting to carry on a conversation with Harsetef. Did the Father of Curses remember him? Did he know that he, Harsetef, had been faithful to his trust? He had three sons now, the oldest ten years of age and already a good bowman. Had Ramses a wife? Children? He could see he went down in Harsetef's estimation when he admitted he wasn't even married and that--to the best of his knowledge--he was childless. They were given the commander's room and left tactfully alone after they had been supplied with food and water, a change of clothing, and, at Ramses's request, a razor. The people of the Holy Mountain were clean-shaven, and his own beard was at its most unsightly. If, as he suspected, he was about to meet the leading citizens of Tarek's group, he had to make a good impression. Between the bronze razor and the bronze mirror he wasn't sure he had succeeded, but he did the best he could. Daria had fallen asleep instantly. She didn't stir when Ramses took off her shoes and bathed her feet. He forced himself to take the rest he needed, though it was hard to clear his mind of its multitude of worries. It was Tarek himself who wakened him, with courteous apologies. While he dressed in a fresh kilt and sandals, Tarek stood looking down at the sleeping girl. "She is brave and very beautiful," he said softly. "You are fortunate to have her." "I don't . . ." Ramses stopped himself. He did, didn't he? From Tarek's point of view, the arrangement was entirely reasonable. "How did you hear of her?" "Two of the men in the troop who brought you from the first oasis are loyal to me." Tarek held the curtain aside and gestured him out. "There are others, who stayed at their posts to work from within." "I must hear about them." "And about other things." The room they entered served as a sort of office, with several tables and chairs covered with papers. There were three other men present, whom Tarek introduced by name and title. The Keeper of the Secrets of His Majesty was a hard-faced man of late middle age, with deep-set eyes like dull pebbles. Whatever the title had implied in ancient Egypt, this fellow looked like a spy. The others were Tarek's vizier and the Commander of All the Armies of His Majesty. A resounding name for a force that probably didn't number over a thousand men. "Tell me first," said Tarek, "of my friends. That the Father of Curses and the Sitt Hakim are well I know, for so it was reported to me. And you are still the only son." "Yes," Ramses said, smiling a little as he remembered a candid statement of his mother's which he had happened to overhear. "One is quite enough." "But I have a friend who is close as a brother and dear as a son to them. He is an Egyptian, about to be married to my cousin." Tarek wanted to know why Ramses's foster brother had not come with them. He seemed to be enjoying the news as much as any gossipy old lady, so Ramses obliged, describing their relationship with Selim and Daoud and others of the family. When he spoke of Abdullah's death, Tarek's eyes flashed. "He placed himself in the path of death to save the lady! I did not know of it. He will be honored in the hereafter as a hero, he will sit in the bark of the god." "He'd like that," Ramses said. "I hope so, Tarek." "And my little sister? She is still a maiden?" "She's not married," Ramses said after a somewhat confused pause. "Why not?" His voice was quick and hard, and the expression in his dark eyes made Ramses