The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [81]
Let me rephrase that. When on a dig, Emerson was only too prone to stripping off coat and shirt, and of course his hat. I objected to this because it struck me as undignified, even when there was no one to see except the workers, but I must confess that aesthetically the effect was extremely pleasing, and I suspected that Emerson was fully aware of my reaction to the sight of his bronzed muscular frame. Yet now that he had a valid excuse to induce that reaction, he refrained. Finally, after what he was pleased to term “your incessant nagging, Peabody,” he agreed to change into an elegant set of garments that had been supplied, and let me judge for myself.
Since Amenit was present—as she always was—he retired into his chamber to change. When he appeared, flinging back the curtain with a passionate gesture, I could not repress a cry of admiration. His hair was almost shoulder-length by now; the thick, shining tresses were held back from his noble brow by a crimson fillet studded with gold flowers. The rich colors of turquoise and coral and deep lapis-blue in the broad collar upon his breast glowed against his deeply tanned skin. Armlets of gold and gemstones circled his wrist; a wide girdle of the same precious materials supported the pleated kilt that bared his knees and…
I managed to transform my laugh into a cough, but Emerson’s face turned a pretty shade of mahogany and he hastily retreated behind the bed curtains.
“I told you, Peabody, curse it! My legs!”
“They are very handsome legs, Emerson. And your knees are quite…”
“They are white!” shouted Emerson from behind the curtains. “Snow-white! They look ridiculous!”
They did, rather. It was a pity, for from the crown of his head to the hem of his kilt he was a picture of barbaric, manly beauty. After that I said no more about changing clothes, but I sometimes saw Emerson in the garden, behind a tree, exposing his shins to the sunlight.
We were never alone. When Amenit slept I do not know; she was always in the room, or leaving the room, or entering it, and when she was not present, one of the servants was. They were shy, silent little people, several shades darker in color than Amenit and Tarek, and if they were not mute they pretended to be, communicating among themselves and with Amenit by means of gestures. The more my strength increased, the more I resented the lack of privacy, for I felt sure that was what prevented Emerson from taking his rightful place at my side by night as well as by day. He was rather shy about such things.
Our suite of rooms surrounded a delightful little garden with a pool in its center. They consisted of several bedchambers, a formal reception room with exquisitely carved lotus columns, and a bath chamber, with a stone slab on which the bather stood while servants poured water over him. The furniture was simple but elegant—beds with springs of woven leather, chests and beautifully woven baskets that served for storage of linen and clothing, a few chairs, several small tables. Only our rooms were furnished; the rest of the building had been abandoned. It was very large, with innumerable rooms and passageways and several empty courtyards, and part of it had been cut out of the cliff against which it apparently stood. These back rooms had probably been designed for storage; they were small and windowless and looked very eerie in the dim light of the lamps we carried when we explored them.
The walls of many of the larger chambers were handsomely decorated with scenes in the ancient style, depicting long-past battles and long-dead dignitaries, both male and female. The inscriptions accompanying these paintings were in the hieroglyphic script familiar to us from our study of Meroitic remains. Ramses at once announced his