Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [16]
That debt was visible to us daily: Nefret herself. Had it not been for Tarek’s braving the long, perilous journey from the Holy Mountain, we would never have found her, and her own fate would have been dreadful. The women of the Holy Mountain, like those of ancient Egypt and Meroe, married and began bearing children when in their early teens. One of the men who had sought her hand was Tarek’s brother, a thoroughly despicable individual who might well have succeeded in taking Tarek’s throne and his life, and Nefret, had we not been present to defend our friend. She would have lived out her life as the unwilling but helpless wife of a cruel despot, instead of brightening ours.
All the same, there were a good many complications that needed to be addressed, and Ramses was obviously the only other one who was capable of thinking sensibly about them.
“David is only one of the many complications that need to be addressed,” I said, and looked round for some flat surface on which I might seat myself. Rose had tidied the room that morning, but it was already in the state of utter confusion that prevails when Ramses is its occupant. Apparently he had rummaged through the bureau drawers and the wardrobe in order to find garments he considered comfortable. These consisted of a collarless shirt that had seen better days and a pair of stained trousers I could have sworn I had directed Rose to throw away, since the stains would not come out. (I did not know what chemical substance had caused them and preferred not to ask.) The garments that had not passed muster hung over various articles of furniture. The bed, the chairs, and the desk were covered with books and papers. Two kittens were chasing each other up and down the draperies.
“Oh—sorry,” said Ramses, observing my intent. He scooped up the papers from a chair and dumped them on the heaped desk, from which they immediately fell to the floor. “Sit down, Mother. Well?”
“You share my reservations, I know. Let us address them in order.”
I took a piece of folded paper from my pocket, and Ramses’s grave face relaxed into a smile. “One of your famous lists?”
“Certainly.” I unfolded the paper and cleared my throat. “Do you remember Merasen—from our first visit to the Holy Mountain, I mean?”
The question obviously did not take Ramses by surprise. “No. But he was only a child, the son of a lesser wife of the king, and we didn’t meet all the members of the royal family. Thanks to the jolly old custom of polygamy, it was extensive.”
“True. The factors your father mentioned the other evening make it probable, if not absolutely certain, that he does come from the Holy Mountain. The next question is—how did he find his way across the desert without a map?”
“He answered that. You remember the oasis that is seven days’ journey from the Holy Mountain—the only water along that arid trek? Tarek keeps a garrison there, to watch out for strangers. Once Merasen and his companions had got that far, they had only to head east, toward the rising sun. They were bound to strike the Nile sooner or later. It would have been hard to miss it.”
“And he counted on us to guide him back,” I mused. “A rather dangerous assumption, that one. Tarek knew we had a copy of the map, but we might have lost or destroyed it.”
“It would have been worth taking the chance, if Tarek was desperate enough.” Ramses began pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. “The confounded boy’s story makes sense, as far as it goes. Anyhow, we haven’t any choice but to respond. The question is how to go about it in the safest possible way. The fewer people who know of our plans, the better. That includes David.”
“You would prefer he did not accompany us?”
Ramses leaned against the desk and ran his fingers through his hair. It was one of the few signs of perturbation he permitted himself. One infatuated young female had gushed about the “Byronic look” of those tousled black curls; in my opinion, they were simply untidy. I reached