The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [140]
Tarek was safe—at least I hoped he was. But what of my gallant, my courageous spouse? I could not move, since Nastasen had me by the throat and was trying to throttle me and bang my head against the floor. It was a fairly ineffectual performance and just went to prove what I was always telling Ramses: that it is difficult to do two things at the same time unless one is equipped with superior mental and physical qualities.
A hand plucked the prince from me and tossed him away like a rag doll. “All right, Peabody?” Emerson inquired, helping me to my feet.
The knife he had taken from my belt was not in his hand. I concluded he had managed to slip it into his pocket after cutting Tarek’s bonds.
Nastasen was pounding the floor and screaming, Murtek had taken refuge behind a very tall soldier and was wringing his hands as only he could do. Pesaker was the only one who kept his head. He shouted out an order. It was the one I (or any sensible person) would have given. The soldiers left off waving their spears at me and Emerson and hastened toward the doorway through which Tarek had gone.
“I believe I feel a trifle faint, Emerson,” I said.
“That might be an excellent idea, my dear.”
So I rolled my eyes up as far as they would go and sagged at the knees. Emerson lifted me with a cry of distress; I reclined comfortably in his arms and listened with interest to the ensuing discussion.
Emerson demanded medical assistance for me. Nastasen, in a voice so choked with fury it was scarcely recognizable, replied that he would do anything possible to ensure my survival since he hoped to have the pleasure of killing me with his own hands. He began describing some of the methods he had in mind. The High Priest of Aminreh broke into this tirade with an accusation Emerson indignantly denied. His poor wife had become hysterical, as women will; hastening to her assistance, he had been attacked by the prisoner, who had struck him down along with several of the soldiers. He had no idea how the prisoner had got his arms free. One of the soldiers must be a traitor.
Everyone began shouting at once. The first sound to be heard when the tumult died was the timid but high-pitched voice of Murtek. “To kill these strangers now would be a mistake. First, they are the god’s; he will be angry if another drinks their blood. Second, while you talked, the traitor has escaped. If the strangers helped him, he will be grateful. He will return to help them.”
“Huh,” said Nastasen. “That would be——foolish. I would not take such a risk.”
“No, my prince. But Prince Tarek would. Even as a child he was weak and soft of heart, listening to the stories of Forth.”
“As did you,” said Pesaker in a grating voice. “Your own loyalty is doubtful, Murtek. What did you do to prevent Tarek’s escape?”
“I am an old man,” Murtek said pitifully. “I help as I can—by giving good advice, words of wisdom. The god must not be robbed of his sacrifice.”
“That at least is true,” said the High Priest of Aminreh. “And the other, it may be, is also true. We will take the strangers to the darkest cells in the prison—”
Murtek coughed deprecatingly. “You wish to set a trap for Prince Tarek? Then leave the strangers here in this place, where Tarek lived as a child, and whose hidden ways are known to him. He cannot reach Prince Nastasen’s cells. He will not try.”
There was a long thoughtful silence. I knew our fate hung in the balance and I decided I would face it standing, as a true Briton should. “Put me down, Emerson,” I muttered.
“Good, she wakes,” said Nastasen, as Emerson set me on my feet. “She will hear her doom from the lips of the king.”
“You aren’t king yet, you young villain,” said Emerson between his teeth. Aloud he said in Meroitic, “Come, wife. We go to the house of Prince Nastasen.”
“Wait!” The High Priest of Aminreh raised his hand. “You are ready to go? You do not ask to remain here?”
Emerson shrugged. “One place