Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [171]
He gestured, and a priest stepped forward, carrying the gold-embroidered white robes of the High Priestess.
“Put them on, Nefret,” Merasen said softly.
She shook her head. “I won’t. I’ll never wear them again.”
“It will be the last time,” Merasen said in his most caressing voice. “You will have another position tomorrow and finer garments.”
Righteous wrath replaced my temporary confusion. Ramses had been right after all. The young villain wanted the throne, and Nefret. Love did not enter into it; I doubt he was capable of feeling it for anyone but himself. She was a symbol of that which is rare and precious, a trophy of victory over us and those who opposed him.
I do not believe Nefret fully comprehended his meaning. It was the garments themselves that frightened her, I did not know why. She turned to me in appeal, her face white.
“It will be all right, Nefret,” I said. “Just drape the confounded veils over you. Here, let me do it. So, Merasen, you have decided you don’t need the other Great Ones?”
Merasen’s utterly charming smile broadened. “I was with you in England, lady. I saw how you lived. You are not rulers or even nobles of that kingdom. You are mortal, and you too can die. Like my father.”
I heard a gasp and a muttered oath from Selim, close behind me. I murmured a word of caution, and Merasen went on cheerfully, “I know you do not have divine powers, but the people are fools, and they will yield to me if you command them.”
“The Father of Curses has more authority than I.”
“Then he will do as I say because you are in my hands. If he lives,” Merasen added happily. “Do you think I was not told he had gone to Tarek? He will be foremost in the attack and I have offered the gold of honor to the one who slays the Father of Curses. I am only sorry that your son will die too. I would like to have killed him with my own hands.”
There was another muttered remark from Selim. Roughly translated, it meant, “I’d like to see you try.”
I removed the wig from Nefret’s head and wrapped the veils round her, leaving her face uncovered. She stood still as a statue, and I made a leisurely survey of the audience, which I had not had the opportunity to do before. Amenislo was not there, nor the High Priest of Isis. Were any of the others secretly loyal to Tarek? Possibly; Ramses had not had time to give me any names save that of Amenislo. The tall commander of the guard met my gaze squarely but made no gesture of encouragement. When I turned toward the Window of Appearance I saw our missing rifles, held by six of Merasen’s chosen guard. It was not an encouraging development. The young fools clutched them so awkwardly I doubted they knew how to aim them, but if they fired into the crowd they were bound to hit someone. That would never do.
I raised my parasol and waved it in intricate patterns, over my head and in front of me, and began chanting. “Arma virumque cano…” By the time I had finished the first two verses of The Aeneid I had everyone’s full attention, including that of the rifle holders. Switching to Meroitic, I explained that I had put a spell on the rifles (I had to use the English word, but my pointing finger made the meaning clear). They would now shoot back instead of forward, killing the ones who held them.
“She lies!” Merasen shouted, shaking his fists. “Do not believe her!”
One of the men stooped and put the rifle carefully down on the floor. The others held them out at arm’s length, jostling one another to avoid having either end aimed at them.
“Clever,” Merasen said, breathing hard. “But not clever enough, lady. See.”
The curtains behind the throne parted and two guards entered, dragging Sethos with them. He was wearing the false nose and preposterous ears, though one of the latter looked unstable.
“I have your ‘friend,’ ” Merasen said. “He will be the first to die if you do not obey me. Give me your word you will do as I say.”
Sethos gave me a doubtful look. “This is not up to your usual standard of efficiency,