The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [105]
At last the distant sound of music broke the silence. The shrill piping of flutes mingled with the mournful mooing of oboes; the ripple of harp strings was punctuated by the soft throbbing of drums. From an entrance at the back of the sanctuary the musicians entered, followed by priests robed in pure white, their shaven skulls shining in the lamplight. Murtek and Pesaker walked side by side, and although Pesaker’s stride was longer and firmer, the older man managed to keep pace with him, though he had to break into a trot every few steps to do so. A veritable cloud of white draperies followed—the handmaidens, whirling in a solemn dance. I tried to count them, but I kept losing track as they circled and crossed in complex patterns. Their movements were dizzying; it was not until they stopped before the altar in a final whirl of fabric that I realized the pattern of the dance had circled around one individual, which now seated itself upon a low stool. Like the others, it was swathed entirely in white, but these draperies glittered with threads of gold.
I have described the ceremony that followed in a scholarly article (whose publication, I regret to say, must be delayed for reasons that will become apparent as I proceed), so I will not bore the lay reader with details. In some ways (unfortunately including the sacrifice of a pair of poor geese) it was reminiscent of what little we knew of similar ceremonies in the ancient world. Emerson gripped Ramses tightly when the geese were brought in, but I give the lad credit; he saw the futility of protesting. However, if he had stared at me as he stared at Pesaker, who wielded the sacrificial knife with obvious relish, I would have hired extra guards.
Following the sacrifice a group of priests trotted out with a huge linen sheet, elaborately embroidered, which they proceeded to drape over the stony shoulders of Amon. I did not see how they managed it, for they worked from behind the statue; one had to postulate scaffolding or ladders. When they came back into view they were leading a woman garbed more richly than any female I had yet seen, in a gown of sheer pleated linen, and crowned like a queen. Pesaker advanced to meet her and escorted her to the front of the statue, where she proceeded to embrace the feet and certain other parts of it, and to make a number of gestures whose import was only too plain but which it is not necessary to describe. Pesaker then took her hand and led her behind the statue, and she was seen no more.
Amon having received his due, it was the turn of Osiris and Isis. The veiled figure before the altar rose, lifting her hands. I had not recognized the implements they held; hearing the sounds that came forth as they were gently shaken, I knew they were sistra, the curious rattle-like instruments sacred to the goddess Hathor. Beads of crystal and bronze strung on wires produced a soft, musical murmur, like water flowing over stone. She shook them at Osiris, singing as she did so, then did the same before the statue of Isis; flowers were heaped at the feet of both statues by the handmaidens, and then she returned to her chair.
How, you may ask, do I know that the veiled form was female? Despite the muffling veils I could see that she was slight and graceful, and when she spoke, as she eventually did, her voice left no doubt as to her sex.
In fact, we first heard her voice when she addressed the god in song. It was a high, clear voice, and would have been quite pretty, I thought, if