Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [76]
“So I was right,” Newbold said, his eyes glittering with greed. “Even a lowly soldier wears a fortune in gold.”
“You don’t know how lowly he is,” I retorted. “Do be quiet.”
Ramses and Emerson were only a few feet away when the captain suddenly called out, “It is he. It is the Father of Curses. The Great Ones have returned!”
All the camels knelt, with remarkable precision for a group of camels, and the riders raised their spears in salute. The captain dismounted and dropped to his knees before Emerson.
I had not realized I was holding my breath until it left my lungs in an explosive sigh.
From Manuscript H
Emerson’s Meroitic vocabulary was limited, but as Ramses pointed out to him, he wasn’t required to do anything but look lordly. It had not been necessary for Ramses to translate the captain’s announcement; his action had spoken louder than words, and most of the words had been familiar to Emerson. Emerson drew himself up and accepted the homage with a gracious wave of his hand, remarking in English, “Quite an impressive performance, eh? It was meant to honor us.”
“Zerwali didn’t get that impression,” Ramses said. “Poor devil.”
“Damn fool,” Emerson corrected. He had little patience with stupidity or with insubordination. “He might have brought a rain of arrows down on us.”
“I think the leader is waiting for you to address him, Father.”
“You do the talking, my boy. Introduce yourself, ask his name, tell him how delighted we are to see him, and that sort of thing.”
Ramses couldn’t help being somewhat flattered at the captain’s reaction when he mentioned his name. The fellow had risen when Emerson indicated he might do so; he promptly knelt again. The “great lady of the house”—and her parasol—were acknowledged with equal respect, but when the captain—whose name was Har—saw Nefret, he bowed so low the feathers in his headdress dragged in the dust.
“Since I am not allowed to speak,” said Nefret in cutting tones, “ask him about the little boy.”
At first Har didn’t seem to understand what Ramses meant. When Ramses elaborated—the child, the prince, who had been ill—he repeated, “The prince. Yes. He is well. Now will you come with us, you and your servants?”
The men were obviously not keen on the idea. In daylight the true nature of their would-be escort was apparent, but the warlike aspect of the troop was hardly reassuring. However, there was really no alternative, as Ramses pointed out to one of the waverers. “Would you prefer to stay here? The camels are weary and so are your men, and the water is running low.”
It was a rhetorical question; they wouldn’t have been allowed to stay behind, even if they had been foolish enough to choose that alternative. Masud went off, muttering, to join the burial party.
Emerson allowed them time for prayer and a few glasses of tea before urging them to load up.
“There is fresh water and fresh meat ahead, and shade where you may rest. They are preparing a feast for us!”
Ramses couldn’t remember hearing Har mention a feast, but it went over well. Even the camels appeared to sense that they were nearing water. They moved faster than they had for days. Emerson promptly urged his riding camel to the head of the procession, slightly in front of Har, and Ramses grinned to himself. No one had to teach his father new tricks.
He walked alongside the camel on which Nefret and Daria were riding and tried to make conversation. “Not far now,” he said encouragingly. Nefret only nodded, but Daria turned and looked down at him, her eyes wide.
“Who are these people? They do not ride like tribesmen, but like soldiers the British have trained.”
“I can assure you the British had no hand in their