The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [164]
The pick of Nastasen’s men, tall, muscular fellows in the prime of life, surrounded the throne-chair and the strange little kiosk behind it. It was made of woven reeds, picked out with gold and heavily curtained. In shape it resembled those I had seen in Egyptian reliefs, with a sloping roof and cornice. I poked Emerson, who was morosely scanning the ranks of the spectators. “Is she there, do you think?”
“Who? Where? Oh, there. Hmmm. It is quite possible. At this moment I am more interested in where Ramses might be.”
I explained my reasoning on that subject. “No doubt,” Emerson said irritably. “I wish they would get on with it, though. We will probably have to sit through most of the cursed ceremony; if Tarek is any sort of strategist, he will wait until the climax, when the attention of the audience is distracted.”
A surge of the crowd and a rising murmur of interest indicated that something was happening. Situated as we were, we could not see the entrance, so it was not until the new arrival was face-to-face with us that we recognized Reggie. Even then I had to take a second look. He was dressed like a nobleman, even to the wig of coarse dark hair that covered his fiery locks.
The Reader may have noted that in our plans for escape we had not considered Reggie. This was not as callous as it might seem. However the day went for Tarek, Reggie had a greater chance of survival than the rest of us. If Amenit could not save him, it was unlikely that we could do better. Should we succeed in getting away, we could and would mount another expedition; but the welfare of the children, Ramses and Nefret, had to take precedence.
Happily unaware of this somewhat cold-blooded assessment, Reggie greeted us with a brave smile. “So here we are, at the end. At least we will die together.”
“I have no intention of dying,” said Emerson with a snap of his teeth. “You look ridiculous, Forthright. Why did you let them stuff you into those clothes?”
“What does it matter?” Reggie sighed. “The only thing that concerns me is the fate of that poor little boy. Even if he still lives, how can he survive without his parents?”
“I prefer not to discuss the subject,” said Emerson. “Ah— I believe the performance is about to begin.”
Nastasen emerged from the entrance to the inner court. He was dressed like a simple priest, except for his long black hair. Following came a small group of high officials, including the two high priests, more guards—and another individual whose appearance made me wonder whether the events of two days past had been only a horrible nightmare. He looked exactly like the Hand of the Heneshem whom Emerson had dispatched—the same squat, heavily muscled body, the same coarse face, the same shining spear and scanty loincloth.
“Curse it!” said Emerson, sitting upright. “I thought I had killed the b-----d.”
“Language, Emerson, please. It is not—cannot be—the same man.”
“Must be his brother, then,” muttered Emerson. And indeed, the hideous leer the new Hand bent upon my husband suggested an anticipatory pleasure stronger than simple pride in one’s professional skill.
Welcomed with music and dancing, the rattle of sistra and the cries of the worshipers, the god came forth.
Emerson leaned forward, his eyes shining. “Good Gad, Peabody, look at that. It is the bark of the god—the ship shown in the ancient reliefs. Have ever scholars had such an opportunity as we?”
Readers who are interested in the meaning of ships in ancient Egyptian religious ceremonies should refer to Emerson’s article in the Journal of Egyptian Archaeology. Here I will say no more than that the object in question was a model of the sacred barks upon which the god sailed to visit various shrines. At the curved prow and stern were carved heads of the god—Amon-Re, wearing the horned crown and the disk. Long poles carried the insignia sacred to Amon, and in the center of the ship was a shrine or tabernacle of light wood hung all around with curtains. Model though it was, it required twenty-five or thirty bearers to carry it.
Normally hidden from the eyes