The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [76]
“Oh, my dear Emerson!” Moved beyond words, I clung to him. “What if it had been poison?”
“It wasn’t.” Emerson squeezed me tight. “But it was not until last night that I was sure you were out of danger. And you will be ill again, Peabody, if you don’t rest. I have satisfied your curiosity—”
“You have scarcely begun,” I cried. “How did Kemit know there was a rescue party at the oasis? Are these people the descendants of the nobility and royalty of ancient Meroë? What is this place—how has it remained unknown?”
“Answers to your questions would take days, not minutes,” said Emerson. “But I will try to give you a brief summary. As you know, there are many isolated peaks and larger massifs in the western desert. This place—the Holy Mountain, as it is called—is a massif hitherto unknown. We approached it in darkness, after riding through several miles of outlying foothills. The cliffs must be a thousand feet high, but they looked even higher, towering against the moonlit sky like the ruins of an enormous temple. Vertical erosion has carved them into a maze of natural pillars, with winding passages between. And that fantastic vision, my dear Peabody, was all I saw. As soon as we reached the foot of the cliffs, Ramses and I were blindfolded. I protested, of course, but to no avail; Kemit was very polite but very firm. There is only one way through the cliffs, and it is a closely guarded secret. I tried to keep track of the windings and turnings of the path, but I doubt I could retrace my steps. After some time my camel stopped; still blindfolded, I was helped to dismount and assisted into a carrying chair. I had given Kemit my word I would not remove the blindfold. Otherwise, he politely but firmly informed me, he would have had me bound hand and foot.”
“Did you keep your word, Emerson?” I asked.
Emerson grinned. His face was as tanned and fit as ever, if a trifle thinner, and I was pleased to see he was cleanshaven. “How can you doubt it, Peabody? Anyhow, the chair was curtained all around; I couldn’t see a thing. It was not difficult to deduce that the mode of power was not horses or camels, but human bearers; but I never saw them, because my blindfold was not removed until after we had reached this house and they had departed. Nor, to be honest, was I concerned about anything except seeing you properly cared for.”
He paused in his narrative to administer a few demonstrations of that concern before resuming. “The precautions taken by Kemit in my case explain one of the reasons why this place has remained unknown. I fancy the unfortunate Beduin who happened to stumble on the secret entrance would not return to tell the tale. In fact, it is unlikely he would get so far; groups of armed men, who use the oasis as one of their bases, constantly patrol the surrounding areas. As I observed, they disguise themselves as ordinary Beduin, wearing the usual robes and headcloths. No doubt they have inspired some of the bizarre legends about raiders like the Tebu, whose camels are said to leave no tracks and who purportedly drink the liquid from the bellies of those beasts. They probably also account for many of the stories about stolen camels and looted caravans. As for our friend Kemit—”
He broke off. “Brace yourself, Peabody,” he remarked with a laugh; and Ramses was upon us.
As a young child he had been given to extravagant displays of affection, but in the last year or two these had become infrequent, owing, I suppose, to his notion that he was getting too old for such things. On this occasion he quite forgot his dignity, and rushed at me with such impetuosity that Emerson was forced to remonstrate. “Gently, Ramses, if you please; your mama is still weak.”
“Never mind, Emerson,” I said, speaking with some difficulty because Ramses had a stranglehold around my neck. In obedience to his father’s order he relaxed his hold and stood back, his hands clasped