The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [46]
As for me, my decision had been made. The hideous dream could not be a literal portent of things to come. Though my trained scholar’s brain had functioned even in sleep, sketching a reasonable rendering of priestly costume and carved god, there had been a number of inaccuracies in the scenario. For one thing, human sacrifice was not practised by the Egyptians – at least, not at the period represented. At least . . .
I promised myself I would investigate that question at a later time. At the present time, I could think only of Emerson. The dream had been a warning. Not that Emerson stood in any danger of being sacrificed on a no longer extant altar of a god whose last worshipper died several millennia ago; that was only the symbol my dreaming mind had chosen to warn me that peril of some sort threatened my beloved husband. Superstitious? No, not I! But I would be the first to acknowledge – nay, to insist – that such profound affection as binds my dear Emerson to me with hoops of steel (to quote the Bard) constitutes a profoundly mystical union; and that under those circumstances anything is possible. I had as yet no real proof that my theory was correct. But if it were – oh, dear Reader, if it were . . . If some new homicidal killer stalked the fog-ridden streets of London by night, seeking not unfortunate abandoned women but Egyptologists . . .
To ignore that possibility would have been to fail in my obligations as a wife and risk the destruction of all I held dear (except, of course, for Ramses). I therefore completed my remaining tasks in short order; and on the following morning we left for London.
The first part of the drive was pleasant, through sunken country lanes where the blossoms of wild blackberry twined among the thorny hedgerows, and along fields fresh with the green of new crops. However, the carriage was somewhat cramped for five of us, especially when three of the five were children. Ten minutes after we drove through the gates of Amarna House they began asking when we would be there. Emerson, who chafes at inactivity, was almost as bad. He had actually proposed taking the train up to London, leaving me to bring the children and the luggage. Needless to say, I promptly quashed this idea. Violet, Percy, and I occupied one seat, with Ramses and Emerson opposite. In this way I hoped to prevent the sort of rude scuffling between the boys that often occurred when they were in close proximity.
Ramses was in a glum mood, however, for he was without his constant companion. The cat Bastet had disappeared.
The cause of her strange behaviour became clear after we got home. The congregating of what appeared to be every male feline within a ten-mile radius left no doubt, in my mind at least, of what was afoot; and although I am sympathetic to the expression of amatory excitability in man or beast, I must say that the advent of Bastet’s admirers added considerably to my difficulties. Their passionate singing filled the night and made sleep impossible; they fought, among themselves and with the dogs. It was something of a relief when she finally chose one suitor from among the rest and eloped with him. But she had not returned by the time we left and I was forced to reject Ramses’ plea that we wait for her return. I would never have been cruel enough to tell him what I feared – that this event might be indefinitely delayed. I had no fear of her survival. She was larger and stronger than most domestic cats and had grown to maturity in the inhospitable Egyptian desert. From the wild she had come, graciously consenting to share our lives for a time; and to the wild she might well return.