Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [94]
“Hmmm, yes,” said Emerson. “I am beginning to get an idea—”
“Let’s not discuss it now, Father,” Ramses cut in. He gestured at Amenislo, who was trotting along ahead of us. Emerson glared. “Quite right, my boy, we don’t want to be overheard. He has obviously turned his coat. Against his own brother!”
“All the members of the upper classes are closely related,” I said. “I expect the new king is a first or second or third cousin of Tarek’s. He must have had some connection with the royal family in order to claim a right to the throne.”
None of us spoke again until we had reached our own quarters. “Ramses, fetch Daoud and Selim,” Emerson said. “You”—he pointed at Amenislo, who was bowing and smiling—“get out. Go. Leave us.”
“Well!” I exclaimed. “We are in a pretty fix.”
“Get rid of them too,” grunted Emerson, indicating the servants.
“They don’t understand English,” I replied. “Unlike Amenislo. I will tell them to serve luncheon. I expect Daoud is hungry, and I am a bit peckish myself.”
“How can you think of food at a time like this?” Emerson demanded.
“It is necessary to keep up one’s strength,” I replied. “At least we know the girls are in no danger.”
Daoud settled down to eat with his usual placidity, but Selim was in a considerable state of agitation. “Ramses says they have taken Nur Misur to be a priestess of their false god,” he exclaimed. “What are we to do?”
“The Sitt Hakim will make a plan,” Daoud said.
“Yes, of course,” I said with a little cough. “But we must think very carefully about how to proceed. These people take their religion quite seriously, and—”
“Don’t be a credulous fool, Peabody,” growled Emerson, who never takes religion seriously. “In this society, as in all the others with which I am familiar, religion among the ruling classes is only a cloak for politics. If the new king were powerful enough, he could install his own High Priestess, and be damned to tradition.”
“As he has apparently done with the position of God’s Wife, who is known here as the Heneshem,” Ramses said. “You recall how it was done in Egypt—when a new king took the throne, he had his daughter adopted by the reigning God’s Wife as her successor. Nefret’s mother was an aberration and, unlike Nefret, she died in office. She may have already had an adopted ‘daughter,’ who took her place, but has not her power, and if the usurper forced his daughter on the new Heneshem—”
“Yes, yes,” Emerson said impatiently. “All very interesting, my boy, but off the point.”
Selim let out an exclamation. “Nur Misur’s mother? Do you mean she was the God’s Wife here? I thought she died when Nur Misur was born.”
“That is what Nefret believes,” I said. “And you must never, ever, tell her differently, Selim. Her mother went mad, denied her husband and her child, and forgot her true identity. She is dead, and there is no need for Nefret to know the truth, which would make her very unhappy.”
“Yes,” Selim murmured, stroking his beard. “For a mother to deny her child…”
“God had taken her mind away,” said Daoud. “She was not to blame. Would it make Nur Misur unhappy to know that?”
“Yes,” I said with an affectionate smile. “Very unhappy.”
“Then I will be silent,” said Daoud. “Forever.”
“Yes,” Selim agreed. “Forever.”
“Now that we’ve settled that,” said Emerson, “can we return to the point? Zekare may be powerful enough to control the position of God’s Wife, but he obviously needs us and Nefret to prop up his throne.”
“I cannot imagine that our influence is that great, or his position so weak,” I protested.
Emerson had been hoarding his store of tobacco. Now he took out his pipe and pouch. He claims the nasty weed aids in ratiocination. I sincerely hoped so, for never had we been in direr need of clear thinking.
“Such must be the case,” said Emerson, “or we wouldn’t be here. Never mind pointing out that I have just committed some horrible flaw in logic, Peabody, only consider the