Guardian of the Horizon (36 page)

legs out from under the messenger. "You lie!" he screamed, his eyes bulging. He was the only one in the room who clung to that fond belief. There was a rush to the window. I hardly need say I was in the forefront, pulling Nefret along with me. At Merasen's orders the plaza had been packed with spectators. Many of the rekkit were there; the village must have been emptied, at swordpoint, to behold Merasen's triumph. The word had already reached the audience, for they were swaying back and forth and crying out, but the spears of the soldiers flanking the staircase held them back. As yet there was no sight of Tarek's advancing army. When I turned I saw that the room was emptying with a speed little short of miraculous. Some of the priests hoisted their robes to their knees in order to run faster. Merasen stood over the body of the messenger. He had met the fate oft meted out to bearers of bad news; Merasen's sword had cleaved his skull. A good third of the guards had also melted away, including the two who had held Sethos. His eyes met mine across the width of the room. For a moment he wavered, balanced on one foot as if about to spin round, and I fully expected he would beat a hasty retreat. Then he said, in a voice that carried clear across the room, "Goddamn it, Amelia, watch out!" and ducked efficiently as a spear whizzed over his head and clattered against the wall. Not all the guards had retreated. There would be a last stand, with us in the middle of it. My shout of "Surrender! Lay down your weapons!" had not the slightest effect on any of them. Selim had acquired a spear, whence I did not inquire. Moroney took hold of me. "Get behind me, Mrs. Emerson," he cried. "Nonsense," I replied. "Look after Nefret and get out of my way." Merasen stood motionless, his bloody sword in his hand. He did not move until the commander of the guard touched him on the shoulder. "We await your orders, prince," he said. Then he looked at me. "Fear not, lady, none will harm you. But I have betrayed one king and I will not betray another." "But he isn't the king!" I shrieked. "He killed his father and his brothers. If that isn't just like a man . . ." The commander looked bewildered, and I realized I had spoken English. Before I could try again, I heard a commotion in the corridor. It heralded the arrival of Ramses, who pushed his way past two surprised guards and came to a stop, struggling to catch his breath. His black hair was wildly windblown and the linen kilt that was his only garment was in tatters. However, he did not seem to have acquired any new injuries. "Your father?" I cried. "Safe. I came on ahead." He didn't waste breath asking after the rest of us, he could see for himself. He looked round the room. His brows lifted at the sight of Sethos, but he was still saving his breath. I didn't doubt he would have a good deal to say to me later. When his cool black eyes came to rest on Merasen he frowned slightly and looked away, as if from an obscenity. "Lay down your arms," he said. "All of you. Tarek is merciful." Really, men do vex me at times. I had lectured the commandant (even though he hadn't understood) and ordered the rest of them to surrender, and no one had paid the least attention. Ramses's quiet voice produced a positive clatter of weaponry, and the commander of the guard bowed. I must admit Ramses looked the true son of his father, with the same air of authority and a form almost as imposing. The partially healed wounds made a visible impression; they assumed he had got them in battle, and men do admire a good fighter. Unfortunately, Merasen did not react as the others did. His eyes narrowed. "You will not take me alive!" he shouted, and backed away, waving his sword so wildly that everyone got out of his way. "That suits me," Ramses said. "Ramses, don't be a fool!" I exclaimed. "Let him go. He won't get far." "We may as well settle this now," Ramses said in the same remote voice. "Will someone be good enough to lend me a sword?" It was the commander himself who drew his weapon and presented it, hilt first. Ramses swung the weapon a few times, trying to get the feel of it. He was a skilled fencer, but this was an entirely different kind of blade, shorter and heavier than a foil. I realized thatno one was going to stop him. Selim and Daoud both believed Ramses could do anything, and Moroney was watching with the same openmouthed fascination as all the others. They had fallen back, leaving an open space for the combatants, and I would not have been surprised to discover that some of them were already placing bets. I did not know what rules, if any, governed duels in this country. Whatever they were, Merasen was not the man to follow them. He rushed at Ramses while the latter's blade was lowered, and only the agile twist of his body saved Ramses from a severe wound. He got his sword up in time to block the next blow, and lunged. Merasen beat the blade aside. Eyes intent and jaw set, Ramses seemed unable for several seconds to do more than parry Merasen's moves. I supposed it was taking him a while to get used to the weapon and the style of fighting, which seemed to be a combination of foil and saber, thrust and slash. He took a cut across the back of the hand and another on the hip before he got the hang of it and began to drive Merasen back with a series of quick movements that brought blood spurting from the boy's arms and chest. Selim was cheering and the spectators were shouting advice to both fighters indiscriminately when Ramses swung his arm back and brought it down in a hard blow that knocked the blade out of Merasen's hand. Merasen tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his back, with Ramses's sword at his throat. The spectators let out a roar. They were united now, as the Roman audience had been when they turned thumbs down, ordering the victorious gladiator to administer the coup de grace. Merasen was still conscious. He heard what they were saying, and he raised a trembling hand in appeal, too breathless or too afraid to speak. Ramses stood looking down at him for several long seconds. Then his mouth twisted, and he tossed his sword aside. Turning to me, he said, "I couldn't do it, Mother. Were you afraid I would?" "My dear boy," I began, and then let out a rather loud shriek. "Look out!" Ramses whirled round. He was weaponless and off balance, and Merasen was on his knees, balancing his sword like a dagger, readyto throw. I didn't have time to move; the explosion was so loud and so close, it half deafened me. The bullet struck Merasen in the chest. He dropped the sword and toppled over, and I turned, very, very slowly, to confront Daoud. "Did I do wrong, Sitt?" he asked anxiously. "I did not wait for your order."

FOURTEEN

Cheers from the plaza below drew us all to the window. The Great Road was filled with marching men, all the way to its end. The torches they carried sent red sparks dancing from the tips of their spears and the gold of their ornaments, and as the head of the procession came into the light of the blazing cressets before the temple, I saw Emerson and Tarek. Tarek was a sight to draw any woman's gaze, his tall frame erect, his proud head lifted; but I had eyes only for the stalwart form at his side. I leaned forward, like a princess in her tower, holding out my arms to Emerson. He saw me; his eyes had sought me. He let out a bellow I heard even over the roar of the crowd. "Get back or you will fall out, curse it!" How could I do less than obey? I withdrew, for I wanted to make sure everything was in order before he joined me. Nefret seemed almost herself again; she had flung off the hated veils and was trying to persuade Ramses to let her bandage his cuts. Moroney was conversing with Daoud, and Selim was brandishing a sword which he had acquired from someone, "just in case." It would not be needed. All resistance had been overcome. The only casualty-- aside from Merasen, whose body had been carried off by two of the soldiers--was Sethos. Someone had knocked him down, or he had knocked himself out falling to avoid the spear; I had seen him lying on the floor, but had not had time to attend to him, what with onething and another. When I knelt beside him I saw that he was breathing steadily and that his ear had fallen off. Snatching one of Nefret's discarded veils, I wound it round his face and head, hiding the disfigured member. There was no response from Sethos, even when the hastily wound cloth covered his mouth. "Lie still and don't move," I whispered. "Emerson will be here momentarily." I waited, my hands pressed to my pounding heart and my gaze fixed on the doorway, and the seconds seemed to drag. At last I heard him; there was no mistaking those footsteps. He charged through the opening and came directly to me. "Everything under control?" he inquired. "Oh, Emerson, can't you at least say . . ." He could not; he never can, in public. But the glow in his sapphirine eyes was as eloquent as words, and his subsequent action was even more eloquent. Seizing me by the waist, he threw me up in the air, caught me, and gave me a bruising hug. "Another triumph, eh, Peabody? Er--all right, are you, my dear? Ramses, my boy, what the devil have you been up to? Selim--Daoud--well done, my friends! Nefret . . ." She ran to him and he took her into the shelter of his strong arm. "All right, are you?" he asked. Tarek's entrance was something of an anticlimax after our tender reunion. He embraced us all in turn, even Daoud, who did not like it very much but submitted after I had explained how his prompt action and skillful marksmanship had probably saved Ramses's life. "Well, well," said Emerson. "It was nip and tuck for a while, but all's well that ends well, eh?" Realizing that he had uttered two aphorisms in a row, he went on hastily, "If you will excuse us, Tarek, we will . . . Who the devil is that?" "Mr. MacFerguson fought bravely with us," I said, exaggerating a trifle. "I will see that he is cared for, Emerson, leave it to me." "Hmph," said Emerson. "By Gad, there are our missing rifles! We didn't hear gunfire, though. Did Merasen have a change of heart?" I explained my little ruse. Emerson let out a bellow of laughter. "Peabody, you really are the most . . ." "Thank you, my dear. We should retire and leave Tarek to the duties of kingship, I believe; but first--shall we perform the ceremony?" When Tarek showed himself at the Window of Appearance, the cheers were deafening--or so I thought, until Emerson appeared beside him holding the crown in his hands, and the voices rose to an even louder pitch. Emerson wanted to make a speech, but he could not get them to keep quiet, so after we had all waved and bowed, we carried out our intention of withdrawing. Goodness knows we were entitled to some rest, and I for one was ready for a stiff whiskey. "What about him?" Emerson demanded, scowling at the recumbent form of Sethos. "I will have him taken to your rooms," Tarek said. "Is he not your friend? How badly is he hurt?" I was somewhat surprised to discover that this time Sethos did have a broken leg. "That's the last of the whiskey," said Emerson, dispensing it with a lavish hand. "Drink up, my dear, you deserve it. Now tell me what happened after we left you." The servants had returned; how many of them had been Tarek's adherents before I did not know or care, for they were all loyalists now. The lady who had favored Daoud was even more assiduous. Watching him do justice to an entire roast goose, she spoke, for I believe the first time, but so timorously no one heard her except Nefret and me. I asked Nefret to translate. "She said she has never seen a man so strong and large who could eat so much," Nefret reported gravely. Daoud looked up, and Nefret went on in the same serious tone. "She wants to know if he is married." Daoud choked on a mouthful of goose leg. I smacked him on the back. "Tell the lady he is married, and that his wife is also large and strong and very jealous." The lady went sadly away and we all laughed, except Daoud. We talked until the lamps burned low, for each of us had a story to tell. Since I am a modest woman, I allowed Captain Moroney to narrate my activities. I will say he did me justice. When he described Ramses's fight with Merasen, Emerson shook his head. "My boy, my boy, I am surprised at your taking such a foolish chance. In future I beg you will consider following my example." "Ha!" I exclaimed. "Who was the one who climbed onto that wall unarmed and in full sight of the enemy?" "There was no trouble at all," said Emerson complacently. "It was over the moment I made my speech." "It was over the moment you pulled that arrow out of your body," said Ramses. "I still don't know how the hell you accomplished that." "It was your mother's idea," Emerson explained. He began unbuttoning his unspeakably dirty shirt. "Deuced uncomfortable, but in view of the fact that I meant to expose myself--er--" He unpeeled several strips of sticking plaster and removed the cover of the camera case, which was, as I have explained, specially made. The arrow had penetrated the outer layers of leather and wood and left a dent in the steel lining. "You might have told me," Ramses said accusingly. "I didn't fire soon enough. I thought you were . . ." "Sorry, my boy," said Emerson, rubbing his chest. Before we retired I went to have a look at Sethos. I had splinted and bandaged his leg before we settled down. I found him plucking ineffectually at the cloth over his mouth, so I replaced the makeshift bandage with a smaller one that covered only the lumpy nose and one eye--and, of course, the missing ear. "Now leave that alone," I ordered. "I have your ear and will return it later, but I don't want Emerson to see you without it. How do you feel?" He muttered unintelligibly and turned his head away. I lifted it and tipped the rest of my whiskey down his throat. "It is the last," I said. "You don't deserve it, but selfishness has never been one of my failings." My shadow fled before me as I climbed, a long, gray caricature of myself. When I pulled myself up onto the plateau, Abdullah was waiting. "Well, you were no help at all, I must say," I remarked. "You and your enigmatic hints! I suppose you were referring to Daria when you warned me against trusting the innocent, and you were completely wrong about her, she has done nothing to injure us." "Not yet," said Abdullah, stroking his beard. "What do you mean?" "Remember, Sitt, that there are many different ways to harm someone. But it may not happen. The future is yet to be." "You won't tell me anything more?" He frowned and shook his head. "What would be the use? You never heed warnings. You tempt Fate and every god. One of them was with you this time, Sitt. Now go back to Luxor where you belong." He stalked away. I had offended him, though I wasn't sure how. "Will you come to me again when I am in Luxor?" I called. He stopped but did not turn round. "You did not say you were happy to see me." "Oh, Abdullah, you know I was! We miss you very much. You will come again to comfort, if not inform me?" He looked back at me over his shoulder, and I saw he was trying to repress a smile. "Is comfort enough?" "In other words, that is all I can expect," I said, laughing. "Yes, Abdullah. It is enough." We all slept late the following morning. I was the first to wake, and although recollection informed me that there was no longer any cause for worry, I felt the need to see with my own eyes that all those I loved (and one I did not love) were really safe and sound. Igot out of bed without waking Emerson and tiptoed from room to room, finding Nefret slumbering sweetly, Daoud and Selim snoring in chorus, and. Ramses, for once, where he was supposed to be. When I drew the curtain aside, he woke instantly and sat up. "All is well," I said quickly. "Go back to sleep. I am sorry to have disturbed you." He understood. One of his rare smiles warmed his tired face and he said, "Counting heads, were you? It's all right, I was about to get up anyhow." I was unable to persuade him not to do so, or prevent him from following me when I looked in on Sethos. After I splinted his leg I had given him a dose of laudanum, so I was not surprised when he lay unresponsive as I checked his pulse and made sure his ear was covered. Lounging in the doorway, Ramses said softly, "If you don't want Father to find out, you had better get him out of here." "I had planned to do that this morning. How did you find out?" "Logical deduction," said Ramses. "I don't quite understand, Mother, why you are being so tolerant of the--er--man. Here's our chance to lay him by the heels once and for all." "We owe Nefret's deliverance to him, Ramses. And frankly I don't want to take the responsibility of delivering him to justice. I hate to think what he could and would do during that long ride back to civilization." "Hmmm," said Ramses. "Very well, Mother, it is your decision, and I will abide by it." Tarek was our first visitor, though he was courteous enough to wait until he had been notified that we had breakfasted and were ready to receive callers. With him was Count Amenislo. The Reader may easily imagine our pleasure at seeing them both, and the count smiled with pardonable complacency when we expressed our admiration and thanks. "You took me in completely," Emerson declared, wringing Amenislo's hand. "Well done! Where were you last night? We were concerned about you." "I was hiding in the underground places," said Amenislo. "Very sensible," I declared. "And the poor old Priest of Isis? Is he safe?" Tarek, who was sitting with Nefret, interrupted their low-voiced conversation long enough to reply. "Like Amenislo, he was wise enough to stay out of the way until my victory was known. He has done nothing to deserve punishment." We were extremely busy for a few days, what with ceremonies of honor for ourselves and everyone else who had made the victory possible. Daoud finally balked at being loaded down with collars of gold, and retreated into his room, but Selim enjoyed every moment of it. We had agreed to stay for a few more weeks, and Emerson took full advantage of the time, rushing from temple to palace to tomb, photographing and copying as much as he could. He kept the rest of us busy too, but we managed to find time for the simple pleasures of life--chatting with friends old and new, strolling through the fine gardens of the city. Tarek and Nefret were often together. She seemed almost her old self, but she had bad dreams now and then. Hearing her cry out in her sleep, I had gone to her and soothed her as one does with a child who suffers from nightmare; and like a child she slept again without remembering what had frightened her. After two of these episodes I decided it was time we made our farewells and started for home. Nefret's bad memories would surely fade once we were back in civilization, and there was no sense in prolonging our visit. I wanted to get back before my solicitor, Mr. Fletcher, sent my "farewell" letter to Evelyn. It would only alarm the poor woman unnecessarily, and I try to avoid doing that sort of thing.