The Last Camel Died at Noon (31 page)

Ramses had gone with his father and Reggie, but the cat had declined to accompany them, preferring to curl up on a pile of cushions. I sat down beside it. It opened one golden eye and uttered a peremptory comment. I stroked its head. The feel of the sleek fur was soothing and helped calm my turbulent thoughts I had always considered myself a good judge of character, but it appeared that I could not be right about both the characters in question. Either Reggie was a liar or Tarek was a villain of the deepest dye - and also a liar. But were these the only alternatives? Was another explanation possible?

Several occurred to me, in fact. Reggie had been ill, perhaps delirious. He might have imagined the whole thing, or mistaken one prince for the other. Like many ignorant white men he had difficulty distinguishing one 'native' from another, and the two men were superficially alike in appearance, especially in semidarkness. (It was a safe assumption that his cell was dark and dank; all of them are.)

Alternatively, Tarek may have deliberately deceived Reggie, for reasons that had yet to be determined.

I felt a great deal more cheerful after I had arrived at these theories.

In honour of our guest I decided to change my trousers for a robe. I had finished my bath and the ladies were drying me off when Emerson poked his head into the room. His scowl changed to a much more attractive expression when he saw what was going on.

'Send them away,' he said.

'But Emerson, they are - '

'I can see what they are doing.' He barked out an order that sent the ladies scuttling off, and picked up a fresh linen towel.

'Upon my word, Peabody,' he remarked, in the course of the activities that followed, 'you are becoming quite a sybarite. Will I have to supply you with obsequious slaves after we return to Kent?'

'I have no complaints about the service I am presently receiving,' I replied humorously.

'I should think not,' muttered Emerson. 'Why are we always getting into situations like this, Peabody? Why can't I conduct a simple archaeological excavation?'

'You cannot blame this situation on me, Emerson. And it is not at all like our other investigations.'

'It has some features in common with them,' Emerson argued. 'Your unfortunate habit of attracting members of the aristocracy for instance. Not just British aristocrats this time, but a whole extra set of nobility.'

The concomitant attentions he bestowed as he spoke made it impossible for me to resent the criticism. Good-humouredly I replied 'At least there are no young lovers this time, my dear.'

'I give you that,' said Emerson, giving me something else as well. 'It is a distinct improvement, Peabody, for which I am grateful. As I hope you are for this... and this...'

I expressed my appreciation in a proper fashion, but finally was forced to say reluctantly, 'My dear, I think I should get dressed now. We have a guest. You found proper quarters for him, I assume?'

'They suited me,' Emerson replied enigmatically. 'What did you make of his story?'

I assumed he referred to the startling revelation concerning Tarek and explained my theories.

'Hmph,' said Emerson, even more enigmatically. 'I would not be too forthcoming with Forthright if I were you, Peabody. Don't mention your midnight visitor or insist upon Tarek's virtues.'

The enigma was resolved. 'You never liked Reggie,' I said, allowing Emerson to wrap me in my robe and fasten my girdle.

'That has nothing to do with the case,' said Emerson. 'There are still a number of things he has not explained to my satisfaction.'

As it turned out, there were a number of things we had not explained to Reggie's satisfaction. When he joined us in the reception room the improvement in his appearance was considerable. The snowy robes set off his ruddy complexion and fiery hair, and his beard had been laundered till it shone like the setting sun. However a new constraint shadowed his frank face, and instead of resuming his narrative he chatted about the food and the objects on the table like a curious tourist. It occurred to me at last that the presence of the attendants might explain his reticence, so I dismissed them.

'Now you can speak freely,' I said. 'You were right to be careful; I believe we have become so accustomed to the servants we forget they are here.'

'Yes, I observed that,' said Reggie, avoiding my eyes. 'You seem quite at home here. Quite comfortable.'

Emerson, always sensitive to possible insult, caught the implication before I did. Dropping his carved horn spoon with a clatter, he snarled, 'What are you getting at, Forthright?'

'You wish me to speak candidly?' A flush warmed the young man's cheeks. 'I will do so; I have never learned the arts of trickery and deception. In the flush of relief at my release and the joy of seeing you alive and well, I forgot caution, but now I have had time to think things over, and I tell you frankly, Professor, that there are a number of things you have not explained to my satisfaction. My map was faulty; yours was accurate. I was captured and beaten; you were rescued and nursed. I have spent the past weeks in a dank, dark cell while you have enjoyed these handsome rooms, with food and wine and splendid raiment, servants obeying your every command -'

'Say no more,' I exclaimed. 'I understand your doubts, Reggie. You suspect our motives. But, poor boy, you are wrong. I cannot account for the difference in the treatment we have received, but we would never betray a fellow Englishman or -woman. If your aunt and uncle still live, we will never leave this place without them.'

'I - I beg your pardon?' said Reggie, gaping.

'It is given,' I replied graciously.

'Just a moment,' said Emerson, grasping his hair with both hands and tugging at it. 'I believe I have lost the thread of the discussion. Am I to understand, Mr Forthright, that you believe your aunt and uncle have survived after all? We too were told they had died - though not in the grisly fashion you mentioned.'

'I don't believe they are alive,' said Reggie. 'I only meant to ask - to suggest... I don't know what I meant.'

'That often happens in the course of conversations with Mrs Emerson,' said my husband soothingly. 'Get a grip on yourself, Forthright, and try to use a little common sense. I see your difficulty, but you surely cannot believe we want to spend the rest of our lives lolling around this palace.'

'Then - then you do mean to escape?'

'We mean to leave, yes. Sooner or later, by one means or another. It may be,' Emerson said thoughtfully, 'that we have only to ask. We haven't tried that.'

Reggie shook his head. 'No one leaves the Holy Mountain. How do you suppose it has remained hidden all these years? We are not the first wanderers to stumble upon the city, or be captured by the patrols that guard the approaches to it. The penalty for attempted escape, by stranger or citizen, is death.'

'Ah.' Emerson pushed his chair back and bent a penetrating look upon the young man. 'You have learned more than you told us earlier.'

'Of course. We were interrupted, if you remember.'

'Then please continue, from the point where we were interrupted. If you have decided to trust us, that is.'

'I don't know what came over me,' Reggie muttered. 'I apologise. But if you knew what I have been through...'

'We will take your sufferings as given,' said Emerson dryly. 'Go on.'

'Well, then. You must understand that we have fallen into the midst of a struggle for power...'

Most of what he told us was already known to us - the death of the king, the conflict between the two heirs to the throne. I would have said so, had not a peremptory gesture from Emerson forbidden speech; and indeed Reggie presented us with a new and quite different interpretation of those facts. 'Kemit, or Tarek, as I must call him, more or less admitted his brother is the legitimate heir. He referred to a rumour that his mother... that his father was really... that he is not...'

'Ah, yes, the old illegitimacy rumour,' said Emerson. 'Very popular with European usurpers. Tarek admitted it was true?'

'Oh, not in so many words; in fact, he denounced it as a vile slander. He protested a bit too much, though. And if he were the true heir, why would he need help from strangers?'

'Was it your help he wanted?' Emerson asked. 'A peculiar way of winning a man's allegiance, shutting him up in... a dank, dark cell, I believe you said?'

'The cell came about after I had refused,' Reggie said wryly. 'He wanted me to assassinate his brother. What else could I have said but no?'

'You could have said yes, and then warned Nastasen,' said Emerson. 'Forthright in name and forthright in manner, eh?'

'Why you?' I inquired. 'With so many methods of murder to choose from and so many loyal men about him - '

'Ah, but his brother has loyal supporters too. Assassination is an old custom here, the nobles all employ food tasters and bodyguards. But they don't have firearms. I am a crack shot, and could pick Nastasen off at a distance.'

I was loath to abandon my favourable opinion of Tarek, but this story made terrible sense. 'What are we to do?' I murmured. 'It is impossible to know whom to trust.'

Reggie pulled his chair close to mine and spoke in a whisper. 'We must escape, and soon. The festival of the god is approaching. Tarek must kill his brother before then if he is to win the kingship, for the god will choose the rightful heir. If we do not get away, we will be faced with the horrible choice of killing or being killed.'

'Not much of a choice,' muttered Emerson. 'I doubt the assassin would enjoy a long life span. You are very well informed, Forthright, and Tarek is incredibly indiscreet. Did he tell you all this?'

The sun was sinking in the west; a mellow dusky light warmed the chamber. Reggie's lips parted in a smile. 'No. My informant was quite another person. Had it not been for her tender nursing, I would have died of my wounds. When we escape, she will go with us, for I will never love another.'

Emerson's fist came down on the table with a crash that made the crockery rattle. 'Damnation! I knew it! Another pair of confounded young lovers!'

After Emerson had calmed himself, Reggie went on with his story - and quite a touching tale it was. It seems that initially his treatment had been similar to ours. Waking, in a fresh, airy, sunlit chamber, he had found himself tended by one of the white-robed maidens, who, as I have said, acted as physicians in this society. Women are very susceptible to handsome, wounded young men; it was not long before the lady was prevailed upon to unveil, and, as Reggie expressed it (rather tritely, I thought), to see her was to love her. The absence of a common language is never a barrier to love and the handmaiden spoke some English - enough to warn him of his danger and enlighten him as to the desperate situation he faced. 'She risked her life in telling me,' Reggie whispered, tears suffusing his eyes. 'And she would have done more, but soon afterwards I had my final confrontation with the prince, and he ordered me thrown into the dungeon. Now that I am free - ' He broke off with a hiss of breath as a white-veiled form materialised in the shadows.

'Not your ladyfriend?' Emerson inquired, turning to inspect the girl curiously.

Reggie shook his head. 'Cursed if I know how you can tell,' Emerson said. 'Swaddled to the eyebrows as they all are.'

'The eyes of love can pierce the thickest veil, Emerson,' I remarked.

'I don't know about that, Peabody. I can think of at least one occasion when your eyes failed to pierce the mask I wore.'

'I was too intent upon avoiding recognition myself,' I replied. 'You knew me, though, in spite of my own mask.'

'My dear Peabody, you are unmistakable.'

Reggie made agitated gestures for silence. 'Watch what you say in the presence of the handmaiden. Many of them understand English, and if they discovered my beloved's treachery - for so they would view it - it would mean her death. Not to mention ours!'

'Surely they would not betray a friend, a sister,' I whispered.

'You don't understand the effect of superstition on the minds of primitive people,' Reggie said - a glaring underestimation of our talents, which wrung a snort of disgust from Emerson. 'These girls have been raised from infancy to believe in their pagan gods and in their own status. They are virgins...'

He broke off, as Mentarit (I recognised her by her walk) approached to light the lamp. After she had withdrawn, Reggie went on, 'The handmaidens are all of noble birth; some are princesses of the royal house. After they have served a designated time, they are given in marriage to men selected by the king for that honour.'

'How appalling,' I exclaimed. 'Given in marriage, like prize cattle... They have no choice in the matter?'

'Naturally not,' said Emerson. 'If the right to the throne passes through the female line, as we surmised, the marriage of a princess becomes a matter of state. Hmmm. I wonder which -'

'Sssh!' Reggie leaned forwards, an anxious frown wrinkling his brow. 'You are about to venture onto dangerous ground, Professor. I will explain at another time; too many ears are listening.'

Indeed they were. The lamps had been lighted, preparations for the evening meal were under way, and our attendants had begun to take their places. Emerson took Ramses off to be washed.

'See if you can discover her name,' Reggie whispered, indicating Mentarit. 'A few of the girls are sympathetic to us.'

'I know her name. So far only two of them have waited upon us, and I have talked with both. That is Mentarit.'

A deep groan escaped the lips of the young man. 'I feared as much. In the name of heaven, Mrs Amelia, take care! Of all the handmaidens, she is the most dangerous.'

'Why?' His fear was infectious; my breath quickened.

'She didn't tell you who she is? But then she would take care to avoid the subject. She is one of the royal heiresses - and Tarek's sister.'

'When I Speak the Dead Hear and Obey!'

Emerson took a sip of beer and made a horrible face. 'If I had any inclination to remain here, beer for breakfast would change my mind. What I wouldn't give for a decent cup of tea!'

'You could have goat's milk,' I said, sipping mine.