The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [108]
“No, Papa. Should you feel my present behavior merits such punishment, I would accept it without resentment. I would never have stooped to such a trick had I not felt—”
“Be quiet until I give you leave to speak.”
Ramses obeyed; but in the silence that followed I could hear him breathing fast. He sounded as if he were on the verge of choking, and I sincerely wished he would.
“Peabody,” said Emerson.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Remind me, when we return to Cairo, to have a word with the headmaster of the Academy for Young Gentlemen.”
“I will go with you, Emerson.” Now that the first shock had passed, I was beginning to see the humor of the situation. (I am known for my sense of humor; my ability to make little jokes has got me and my friends through several tight spots.) “So long as he is here, however, shall we let him stay awhile? He may be able to contribute something to our evaluation of the ceremony.”
“He may as well stay,” Emerson remarked gloomily. “Conversation is the only activity in which I am able to engage at the moment. Very well, Ramses. You presumably overheard our discussion about the priestesses.”
“Yes, Papa. But—”
“It was the Priestesss of Isis who decided that we should remain in our present quarters instead of moving to the temple area. The High Priest of Amon, who suggested the latter course, was visibly displeased, but he didn’t argue the matter. Now can we conclude that he wished to get us into the hands of the priests, and that she countermanded the order because she felt we would be safer here?”
“Pa——” said the voice under the bed.
“The reverse might be argued, Emerson,” I said. “We would be more closely protected in the temple. And perhaps closer to the tunnel through which we must escape.”
“Mama—”
“We agree, however, do we not, that two different, opposing factions are in contention for control of our humble selves?”
“At least two. Even if we assume that the High Priestess of Isis and Pesaker favor different princes, don’t forget my visitor. He must represent a third party—that of the people.”
“Not necessarily,” Emerson argued. “The theory of government by the people is alien to a culture such as this. The best the rekkit can hope for is a king sympathetic to their needs.”
“Democratic government may be an alien concept, but the seizure of power by an adventurer is not.”
“True. The next time you are visited by Robert of Locksley, you might ask him what his intentions are. I think we might have a little chat with the Priestess of Isis. That is a suitable task for you, Peabody; it would be only courteous to pay your respects. She may have been hinting at just such a visit when she said—”
“ ‘From Greenland’s icy mountains!’ “Ramses’s whisper was as forcible as a shout. ” ‘From India’s coral strand!’”
“I beg your pardon?” said Emerson.
The words tumbled out. “She did not say it, Papa, Mama, she sang it. The hymn. When she sang to the god. Mixed in with the other words. ‘Hail Amon-Re great progenitor from Greenland’s icy mountains, It is thou who wakens the child in the womb from India’s coral strand.’ Mama, Papa— she sang it in English.”
CHAPTER 11
“Another Pair of Confounded Young Lovers!”
OUR response to Ramses’s announcement was—quite without malicious intent—the most deflating we could have made. I stifled my laughter against Emerson’s broad shoulder, and he said with kindly tolerance, “Did she, my boy? Well, that is not surprising; the priestesses are all of noble birth, and as we know, many of them learned a bit of English from Forth. She may have intended a delicate compliment to her god by singing the hymn of another faith. Or even… I say, Peabody! Could it have been meant as a delicate compliment to us—a sign that she means us well?”
“I don’t believe for a moment that she sang anything of the kind,” I replied. “Ramses’s imagination has run away with him. One could find any tune one wanted in the weird ululations of this music.”
“I assure you, Mama—”
“Oh, I am