Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [103]
The discussion came to an abrupt end when the king rose. “We will speak again of these matters. You may go now.”
He stalked out through one of the curtained doorways behind the dais. “I take it we are dismissed,” remarked Emerson. “What did he say that Merasen didn’t bother to translate?”
“You have an evil, suspicious mind, Father,” Ramses said. “I’ll tell you as soon as we are in private.”
Merasen had followed his father out of the room, and the others began to leave, one or two at a time. The commander of the guard lingered, lining his men up in proper order. As if struck by a sudden thought (which was probably not the case), Emerson strolled up to him.
“Good, your men,” he said. “Good leader, you.”
Instead of bowing, the fellow stiffened and stood at attention, like a subaltern who has been addressed by a general. “I know the stories,” he stammered. “The spear…straight through the body till it stood out a handsbreadth behind his back. Harsetef told me…”
Emerson, who had only understood a few words, brightened at the familiar name. “Harsetef, yes. My friend. He was there.”
“My friend,” the captain repeated. “You saved his life, the lives of his wife and child.”
Ramses took the liberty of translating this. Emerson waved a negligent hand. “The least I could do. How is the old chap?”
While Ramses was trying to think of a reasonable translation for these idiomatic remarks, one of the princes came back into the room. He barked out an order. The captain saluted and started to turn away.
“Your name, my friend?” Emerson inquired with magnificent condescension.
“Alare, O Great One.” He saluted Emerson as he had done the prince, with raised hands and bowed head.
Ramses had followed the proceedings with a feeling almost of awe. His father was famous for his violent temper and physical strength; he hadn’t fully realized that Emerson was capable of twisting a man’s mind as efficiently as his body.
“Well done, Father,” he murmured, as they started back toward their rooms.
“Divide and rule, my boy. I detected at least four different factions in that single room; if we can’t play them off against each other we deserve to be stuck here. I’ll concentrate on the military, since”—Emerson coughed modestly—“I seem to have some prestige in that quarter. Peabody—”
“The High Priest of Isis” was the prompt reply. “He seems a timid little man, and Nefret is in his charge.”
“What about me?” Ramses inquired.
“I leave it to you, my boy. Merasen’s older brothers are obviously green with envy. Only a suggestion,” he added.
“Yes, sir.”
This time Emerson didn’t dawdle. Daoud and Selim were eating when they entered their sitting room. Selim jumped up. “What happened? Is Nur Misur—”
“Nothing to do with her,” Ramses said, smiling at him. “It’s good news, in fact. Mother will be allowed to see her tonight.”
“I thought that was what he said,” remarked that lady. “But I got the distinct impression that Merasen did not report everything accurately.”
The servants brought more food—Daoud had finished the first course—and Ramses told Selim and Daoud what had happened.
“We are to be allowed a limited amount of freedom—with a guard of honor, naturally.”
“You didn’t ask about the rekkit’s villages,” Emerson said.
“I thought it would be better if we simply barged straight ahead until somebody stopped us.” Ramses paused long enough to swallow a spoonful of soup, and then went on. “Your speech was well received, Father. I think Zekare will buy it, because disinterested loyalty is a quality he doesn’t believe in or expect.”
“That is a not uncommon characteristic of tyrants,” remarked his mother sententiously. “They fail to understand that a man whose loyalty can be bought is open to a higher bid.” She caught Emerson’s eye and went on smoothly, “The high priests of Aminreh and Isis have always been at odds. We may hope to insinuate a wedge.”
“As Father