The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [88]
Emerson offered me his handkerchief. I found my own and wiped my eyes.
“I believe your assessment of the prince’s character is correct, Mama,” said Ramses. “I am sorry you gave him the satisfaction of distressing you, for I had already learned the truth from Tarek, and would have broken it to you more gently.”
“I seem to detect a note of criticism in your remarks, Ramses,” I said. “And I take strong exception to it. Er—what did Tarek say?”
Ramses looked around for something to sit on, his lips curling as he surveyed the mess on the floor. Though his personal habits left a great deal to be desired, in some ways he was as fastidious as a cat. (That is, he was intolerant of all messes except the ones he made.) “May we go into your sleeping room, Mama? We can converse more comfortably there.”
We did as he suggested—Emerson stepping absently over the servants, who were crawling around picking up the scraps. Darkness had fallen but it was still early, by our standards; like other peoples who lack efficient means of artificial lighting, the citizens of the Holy Mountain rose at sunrise and went early to bed. I was a little tired myself, so I was glad to recline. Emerson drew up a chair and Ramses curled up at the foot of the bed, cleared his throat, and began.
“Mrs. Forth did not long survive her arrival here. ‘She went to the god,’ as Tarek put it, quite delicately, I thought. Mr. Forth lived for many years. Tarek assured me he was happy here and did not want to leave.”
“Ha,” I exclaimed. “We may take that with a grain of salt, I think!”
“Not necessarily,” Ramses argued. “It may be that his appeal for help was written early in his captivity.”
“And took over a decade to be delivered?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Emerson said thoughtfully. “The message must have been composed while Mrs. Forth yet lived. Forth may have changed his mind.”
“He did,” said Ramses. “If you will permit me to finish—”
“How did Mr. Forth die?” I demanded.
Ramses spoke in a rush. “Of purely natural causes, if Tarek is to be believed, and I see no reason why we should doubt him, for he went on to say that Mr. Forth had risen to the rank of Counselor and Tutor of the Royal Children; it was from him that Tarek and certain others learned English, and Tarek spoke of him with great affection and respect.”
He paused and inhaled deeply.
“That doesn’t explain the message, or the map,” I said critically. “Or why Tarek came to work for us, or his reasons for doing so, or who is responsible for our being here.”
Ramses’s eyes narrowed in exasperation. “Tarek could not speak freely. Not all those present tonight were loyal to him. He warned me to be careful of what we said by quoting the precept, ‘A man may be ruined because of his tongue—’”
“Ah—the Papyrus of Ani!” exclaimed Emerson. “To think that ancient book of wisdom has survived so long! It must have been carried to Cush by the priests of Amon who fled Thebes at the beginning of the Twenty-Second Dynasty. Peabody, you remember the rest of the passage—’Do not open your heart to a stranger—’”
“I do remember it. It is excellent advice, but I think Ramses is giving way to his love of the theatrical when he interprets it as a warning.”
Ramses looked indignant, but before he could protest, his father came to his defense. “I am inclined to think it was meant as Ramses interpreted it, Peabody. We seem to find ourselves in the middle of a political struggle for power. Tarek and his brother are competing for the kingship—”
“The god will decide,” I broke in. “I presume you overheard what Murtek told me; you heard him mention the ceremony of coming-forth.”
“Yes. But I hope you are not so naive as to believe that the god is incorruptible. Behind the pious platitudes of inscriptions like those of Thutmose the Third lies the same ugly truth that controls modern struggles for power and prestige. In Egypt the High Priests of Amon were the eminences grises behind