The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [123]
It was the first time I had heard him address Emerson directly, and I noted that the Meroitic words were a literal translation of the affectionate title by which Emerson was commonly known in Egypt. Tarek and his two lieutenants who had worked for us at Napata were the only ones who could have known of it; one of them must have mentioned it and the word had spread—together, I felt sure, with tales of the well-nigh supernatural awe in which my remarkable spouse was held by those who knew him.
“Damnation,” said Emerson. “I should have anticipated this.… You heard me, though,” he added in Meroitic.
The young man winced. “The voice of the Father of Curses rolls like the thunder, and his hand is heavy as the hand of the god.”
“Good Gad, Emerson, what are we to do?” I exclaimed. “We cannot let these poor fellows be punished on our account. Is it because they were unable to prevent us from visiting the cemetery?”
Emerson repeated the question in Meroitic. The young man nodded. “We failed in our duty. The penalty is death. Now I will die the second death for hearing, for speaking. Will the Father of Curses take his hand from me so that I may die with my men?”
“I think you are hurting him, Emerson,” I said. “His arm is turning blue.”
“If I let him go he will bolt,” Emerson said abstractedly. “Discipline is certainly tight in these parts. Hmmm.”
The young officer stood passive in Emerson’s grasp, his face as expressionless as that of the dead man he claimed to be. After a moment Emerson said, “Stand back a bit, my dear Peabody.”
I did so, and as an additional precaution I clapped my hands over my ears.
“I am the Father of Curses,” Emerson bellowed, shaking the young man like a doll. “When I speak the dead hear and obey! When I command, the gods tremble! The power of my voice troubles the heavens and makes the ground shake!”
He went on for some time in this vein. By the time he reached his peroration he had attracted quite an audience: a dozen or more soldiers, including several officers; a few of the attendants; and, unobtrusive as curious mice, some of the little servants. Ramses and Reggie came trotting in, and behind them was the white-robed form of the handmaiden—whichever one it was.
Emerson pretended not to notice them, but his voice rose to an even more penetrating pitch and his sparkling orbs betrayed his enjoyment. He is always at his best in the presence of a large audience.
“I forbid you to die!” he shouted. “You are my men, you belong to the Father of Curses! Pick up your spears!” And, with a gesture as graceful as it was powerful, he sent the young officer staggering toward his fallen weapon.
I must say it was one of Emerson’s most impressive performances. I felt an overpowering urge to rush off and pick up a spear myself.
One of the officers made a vague gesture of protest as the doomed men, looking a good deal more cheerful, hastened to obey. Quick as a cat, Emerson wheeled on him. “The men of the Father of Curses are sacred! No man dares touch them.”
Turning, he offered me his arm. As we proceeded toward our apartments the audience melted away, leaving only Ramses and Reggie to greet us. “Upon my word, Professor,” Reggie exclaimed, “that was—that was certainly… Er—what was it all about?”
Emerson deigned to explain.
“It was a brilliant performance, my dear,” I said. “And it has, I trust, gained us a few loyal adherents. Those men owe you their lives.”
“Don’t count on it, Peabody. Old superstitions die hard. And it may backfire. Successful demagogues are not popular in tyrannical societies.” Emerson’s frown cleared and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Ah, well, I had no choice in the matter. Now I want my bath. Where are those abominable attendants? Never around when you need them!”
After bathing and changing we sat down to an excellent meal and Emerson and I at least did it justice. I was forced to speak to Ramses about eating with his fingers and putting his elbows on the table. “You are turning into a perfect little Cushite, Ramses,” I scolded. “And your head is still bare as