The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [151]
“Professor, are you mad?” demanded Reggie, who was walking behind us. “Don’t provoke them. We are walking on a sword’s edge as it is.”
“Do you know what this is all about?” Emerson asked.
“No. No, I have no idea. It can’t be the crowning ceremony, it is still several days off.”
“So I thought,” said Emerson. “This is probably another of Nasty’s little tricks to unnerve us. I refuse to be unnerved.”
“You have had your fun, though, my dear,” I said, taking his arm. “Behave yourself. And brace yourself. Nastasen’s little tricks may live up to his nickname.”
Brisk exercise and fresh air did us good, though the weather was not salubrious. A haze of sand dimmed the sun, without diminishing its fiery heat. I was short of breath—with anxious anticipation as much as fatigue—by the time we reached our destination: the great gates of the palace, where I had once gone to visit the dowager queen.
Her apartments had been in the open, with courtyards and pretty gardens surrounding them. We went nowhere near this part of the structure, but marched on through increasing gloom into the rock-cut chambers at the rear of the structure. They were no less imposing; in fact, the shadows lent them an eerie majesty suited to their purpose, for they were obviously the state apartments of the ruling monarch, adorned with statues, hangings, and painted walls. Here were none of the gentle scenes of birds and flowering plants and running animals that had decorated the palaces of Amarna which Emerson and I had excavated, only representations of the king’s majesty and martial prowess. The iron-bound wheels of his chariot crushed the enemies who had fallen before his arrows; his upraised club dashed out the brains of a kneeling captive.
Finally we entered a room of greater size than any we had seen. Dozens of torches and lamps served only to illumine the central portion; the far-off ceiling was a canopy of shadows, and darkness formed the side walls. On a platform straight ahead stood a chair covered with gold foil. The legs were those of a lion; lions’ heads formed the front of the armrests. It was empty except for an object that rested on the cushioned seat. A smooth, bulbous white shape, cradled in a frame of stiffened blood-red reeds—the ancient Double Crown, which had signified the unification of the two lands of Upper and Lower Egypt but which in this forlorn and dying oasis recalled only a memory of vanished glory.
The room was full of people. They stood still as statues, but eyes glittered from the shadows, and I saw that they represented all the classes of this strange society. Rank on rank of armed soldiers; courtiers and nobles, men and women alike, in their rich garb; even a group of the rekkit, herded into a separate enclosure and closely guarded.
At the foot of the steps leading up to the throne and at right angles to it was another chair, also carved and gilded but less ornate. Facing it were three plain wooden chairs, with seats of woven reeds. To these we were led.
“We are to be spectators rather than performers, it seems,” remarked Emerson. He spoke in a normal voice, but echoes amplified the sound, and the watching eyes flashed, as if they had rolled toward us and then rolled back.
After we had seated ourselves, nothing happened for a long time, and I occupied myself by studying the room and its furnishings. There is a trick of adjusting the eyes to comparative darkness; by focusing on the most shadowy portions of the chamber and avoiding looking at the lamps,