Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [131]
“What did he say?” Emerson asked, poking Amenislo. The count started nervously and translated the speech.
“Ha!” said Emerson happily. He turned to me. “Peabody, did you catch the allusions? Bits and pieces of various hymns? I did this chap an injustice; he is not solely motivated by a desire for power, he actually believes this nonsense.”
The High Priest poked Amenislo. “What did he say?” he barked.
There is no stopping Emerson when he receives encouragement of that sort, so I left them to it. As the evening wore on, everyone became quite animated; Emerson and the High Priest kept demanding translations from an increasingly flurried Count Amenislo, and as their voices got louder, the old Priest of Isis stopped looking nervously over his shoulder and became more forthcoming. He too was a believer; there were genuine tears in his eyes when he spoke of restoring the goddess to her shrine.
“We too will be happy to have the goddess come back,” I said politely.
“Do you know her, in your country?”
“Some of us in our country honor the divine mother and her son.”
“Is it so? She is kind and good,” the old man murmured with a pointed glance at the debaters. “Not like other gods.”
“It is true,” I exclaimed, realizing I was in danger of getting into a theological debate of my own. “Can the High Priestess bring her back? She has been long away.”
I gestured to one of the servants to refill the old gentleman’s cup. We were now allies, if not coreligionists, and he saw no reason to guard his tongue. “The High Priestess remembers. More and more, day by day, she remembers. Every day we talk, she and I, alone together. And when the divine Isis returns, she will take her rightful place as queen of the gods of the Holy Mountain.”
And her High Priest, Amase, would take precedence over his rival, the Priest of Aminreh. As Emerson would have been quick to point out, religion was often a guise for power.
Merasen went from table to table trying to overhear everyone’s conversations. It was he who finally put an end to the proceedings; since he was of the highest rank among those present, everyone took their cue from him. Some were clearly reluctant to go, including the stalwart captain of the guard. Frustrated in his attempt to converse with Emerson, he had gone to sit with Selim and Daoud, and I did not doubt he had been regaled with a number of tall stories about Emerson. It is amazing how much one can convey with gestures and a few words. The only person who had not entered into the merriment was one of the officials, who seemed to be suffering from a severe cold. As the chill of the evening air increased, he wrapped himself more closely in his fine linen mantel, and he was the first to leave the room.
“You weren’t of much help,” I said to Emerson, as the servants began clearing away the remains of the food and mopping up puddles of spilled wine. “You were supposed to interrogate the High Priest, not argue religion with him.”
“I realized early on,” said Emerson loftily, “that there was no hope of corrupting the fellow or persuading him to turn against Zekare.”
“How clever of you to accomplish that so quickly.”
“Spare me the sarcasm, Peabody. Did you know Tarek had levied heavy taxes on the temples, especially that of Amon, and turned many of the priests out to earn an honest living? This chap felt his agitated prayers had been answered when Zekare took over the throne and restored Amon to even greater power.”
“That is all very interesting, Emerson, but I cannot see that it helps us.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “What about you? No doubt you won the Priest of Isis over to our cause.”
“I made considerable headway, in fact. He is an innocent old soul; he told me