The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [124]
“They were quite insistent, Mama,” said Ramses.
“Then you must be more insistent. I won’t have you going back to civilized society with your hair in that state.”
When the table had been cleared and the crumbs swept up, Reggie suggested we go into the garden. “I must speak to Mentarit about Ramses’s hair,” I said. “I will not have… Where is she? I didn’t see her leave.”
Reggie took my arm. “That is what I wanted to tell you,” he whispered. “She has gone back to the temple. It will be Amenit who returns.”
“Mrs. Emerson is quite capable of walking without your assistance, Forthright,” said Emerson, scowling. “Hands off my wife, if you please.”
Reggie jumped away from me as if he had been stung, and we proceeded into the garden. As we walked along the pool, the vines along the far wall swayed violently. A face peered down at us. It was covered with tan fur.
Ramses went to greet the cat with one of his peculiar murmuring noises. It replied in kind, but instead of jumping down, it began pacing along the top of the wall. Ramses trailed it, eyes lifted and arms extended, like a miniature Romeo in pursuit of a furry, ambulatory Juliet.
“One of the temple cats—here?” Reggie exclaimed.
“How do you know it is a temple cat?” Emerson asked, as I simultaneously inquired, “The temple of Bastet?”
As courtesy demanded, Reggie answered me first. “Bastet, Isis, Mut—all these heathen goddesses are the same. Her cats are of a particular breed, larger than the common kind and held to be sacred.”
“She won’t come down,” exclaimed Ramses, sounding as pettish as any ordinary child. “Mama, can you—”
“No, I cannot,” I replied firmly. “Cats are not susceptible to the sort of persuasion one uses on human beings, and what is more, they are eccentric individualists—”
“Who possess extremely keen hearing,” Emerson said. “I believe we are about to have a visitor, Amelia.”
Moved by an indefinable instinct, we moved closer together. The cat vanished and Ramses came to stand beside me. When the visitor appeared, following an escort of archers and white-garbed maidens, Reggie let out an oath and retreated to the far side of the pool.
Tarek—for it was he—seated himself in the chair a servant hastily placed behind him. His broad golden armlets glistened in the sunlight as he gestured; other chairs were brought, for us and for the men who had accompanied him. One was Pesaker, the High Priest of Aminreh. He did not appear to be in a pleasant frame of mind.
Neither was Tarek. The eyes he fixed upon us lacked the kindly look they had always held before, and instead of uttering the formal greetings he burst into angry speech. “What manner of people are you, that you lack courtesy and gratitude toward those who have rescued you? Have you no respect for our customs? You violate one of our strict laws; we show you mercy, we restore your friend to you. Now you have committed sacrilege. If one of our people had acted in such a way he would die!”
“But we are not of your people,” said Emerson calmly. “If we have offended we did so in ignorance, and we deeply regret having done so. We will make whatever reparation you think proper.”
“It is true that you are ignorant barbarians,” Tarek said thoughtfully.
The corners of Emerson’s mouth twitched. “True,” he said, with equal gravity. “It is the duty of the wise to educate the ignorant, not punish them. Is not that also true?”
Tarek considered the idea. Pesaker’s face darkened. He may not have understood all that was said, but he could see the prince’s mood had softened and he was not pleased. “What do they say?” he barked. “Do not listen to them. There is no excuse(?) for their crime. I order—”
Tarek turned on him. “You dare to order me? You do not speak for the god here. I will decide the fate of these offenders.”
I have sometimes been accused of being precipitate and of acting upon impulse. Such was not the case now. I had carefully considered what I meant to do, and in fact Emerson himself had made a similar suggestion. (Though of course he claimed