The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [103]
The difficulty about the sandals was soon removed by the appearance of a number of curtained litters, complete with stalwart bearers. I expected Emerson to balk at this, which of course he did; but his remark, as he stood staring at the dark-skinned, heavily muscled men, came straight from his noble heart. “Bred for this,” he murmured. “Bred like cattle. Curse it, Peabody.…”
“Say no more, Emerson. I am with you heart and soul. But this is not the time to object.”
Emerson climbed awkwardly into one of the litters. Ramses hopped nimbly into another, followed by one of the attendants. I had one of the ladies with me, which was deuced annoying because in her effort to display great respect she refused to sit down, and she kept falling from her knees into my lap. I observed, from peeping between the curtains, that the bearers’ legs were moving in perfect unison; still, it was not the most comfortable means of transportation I have ever experienced.
As I had expected, we were being borne along the elevated roadway that led from the quarter of the nobles toward the temple. Darkness was almost complete; stars lay pinned like diamond ornaments upon the bosom of the night. A few lights showed from the fine houses on the hillsides above; but the village looked as if a thick black veil had been dropped over it. Curls of mist crossed it like gauzy scarves on a velvet wrap.
I placed my fingers on my wrist and noted, without surprise, that my pulse was a trifle quick. Never mind, I thought; a rapid heartbeat will send the blood rushing more strongly through my veins. We had been treated with great honor and respect, but that was no guarantee that we would survive the night. Again I found myself remembering the ancient Aztecs of America. I shifted position slightly, for the point of my knife was pricking my skin. I had seized the opportunity of secreting it upon my person when I assumed my combinations.
As we went on I resisted my companion’s timid attempts to pull me back into seemly seclusion; from the litter ahead of mine I could see Emerson’s head protruding through the curtains. The moon had lifted over the cliffs; it was not yet at the full, but in that cold, dry air its light was strong enough to cast a silvery patina over the scene, and it was one no scholar could resist. Moonlight over ancient Thebes! Not the mighty ruins that survive, but the hundred-gated city in its proud prime, with its palaces and monuments untouched by time. A pyloned gateway glided past; a row of Hathor-headed columns formed the portico to some great mansion. Now, on the right, came a broad staircase with couchant sphinxes lining the balustrades; above it towered walls carved with monumental figures. A brighter, ruddier glow brightened the road ahead. I craned my neck to see better, but the litters ahead of mine obscured my view until we were almost upon it: twin pylons soaring high into the heavens, their painted facades lit by flaring torches. Without breaking stride the bearers trotted through them into a court filled with columns like the Hypostyle Hall of Karnak.
At that point my attendant’s remonstrations reached the point of hysteria, and since we passed dangerously close to some of the columns I reluctantly withdrew my head. When I next ventured to peek out I realized that the moonlight had disappeared. We were deep in the heart of the mountain, and as we moved on through room after room and passage after passage, I marveled at the magnitude of the achievement. What multitudes of slaves, what countless centuries had been necessary to achieve such a mighty work?
At last the procession halted and the bearers lowered the litters to the ground. I managed to scramble out, though my trailing draperies got in the way.
Compared to some of the others I had seen, this room was fairly small. Woven hangings covered the walls; a stone-cut bench heaped with cushions ran along one side. The bearers picked up the litters and trotted out the way they had come. The women pounced on me and began straightening my skirts and poking the pins more securely