Guardian of the Horizon (17 page)

SEVEN

Newbold did not come out of his hut to bid us farewell. No one expressed disappointment. Escorted by a few of the servants carrying our hand luggage, we were led to the place at the edge of the oasis where the caravan awaited. The camels had been loaded, and as the stars paled and the rim of the sun peeped over the horizon, I saw that the men of our escort had exchanged their uniforms for long, hooded robes woven of camel hair. They were practical garments for desert travel, and in the dim light the tall shrouded forms were eerie enough to strike terror into the heart of the superstitious. Then I observed a strange, balloonlike structure on the back of one of the camels. It rather resembled the bassourab used by Bedouin women when they are on the march with their men. "Curse it," I exclaimed. "Are we expected to ride in that contraption?" Har indicated that we were. I gave in for the moment, since the captain was obviously impatient to be off, but I had no intention of occupying it for the entire time, and I knew Nefret would feel the same. It was comfortable enough, though extremely cramped for three; rugs and cushions formed a soft surface on which to sit, and the curtains could be adjusted to admit air. When Emerson announced his intention of checking the loads, to make sure nothing had been left behind, Daoud nudged Selim, and the latter said somewhat apologetically, "It is the time for prayer, Emerson." "Curse it," said Emerson. "Get on with it, then. Ramses, come with me." I apologized to Selim, who replied with a grin that there was no need. I calculated that approximately half of the original escort was now with us, the rest presumably having been left to guard the oasis. Emerson confirmed this when he returned, and went on to say, "Everything seems to be in order. Here, Peabody, let me hoist you up." I will not test the Reader's patience by describing the last part of our journey in detail. In fact, there was nothing much to see once we had left the palms and greenery of the oasis behind--sand and stony ground, rock outcroppings, and an occasional vulture swinging through the empty sky. One event broke the monotony: a sandstorm which went on from midmorning until shortly before sunset. There was no thought of stopping; a stationary object would soon be buried. The camels knew this. At times, when the force of the wind and sand was at its fiercest, they moved at a snail's pace, but they never stopped. As the interminable hours wore on, one came to think of the sand not as a natural force but as millions of tiny, malevolent beings, attacking the bent heads of men and camels, driving through the drawn curtains of the bassourab and penetrating even the cloth we had wrapped round our heads and faces. When the wind finally died, as suddenly as if someone had pressed a switch, our camel came to a halt. Naturally I immediately parted the curtains and put my head out. The first sight my anxious eyes beheld was the face of Emerson. He had assumed one of the hooded robes, which had protected him to some extent from the driving sand, but his face was red and raw. "All right, are you, Peabody?" he inquired hoarsely. "Yes, my dear. What about the others?" "Still with us and still on their feet. Brace yourself, I believe your camel is about to kneel. Can't blame the poor brute." Har came plodding back along the line of camels. He inquired solicitously after the well-being of Nefret and me and announced we would stop for a while. For once I was in full agreement with the camels, some of whom had already knelt. We gathered round the little campfire Selim had started. The sullen crimson of the sun was dulled by fine falling dust. "Are we still on the right path?" I asked. "I cannot imagine how he could see where we were going, and the storm has obliterated any landmarks." "There haven't been any signs of life for several days," said Ramses. "No bones, no tracks, not even a pile of camel dung. I wouldn't be surprised if these patrols are ordered to obliterate such signs. They probably have their own private landmarks." As soon as the dust had settled, Emerson checked the compass, but when he approached Har with the information that we were off course, he was politely but firmly brushed aside. "I know that, Father of Curses. We will return to the right path tomorrow." As usual, Har and his men left us to ourselves, settling down in their blankets a little distance away. This vexed Daoud, who was a sociable soul and wanted to make friends. "They are strange people," he announced. "They are people like us, Daoud," Ramses said. "They speak a different language and their customs are not like ours, but they are good men." "They do not pray," said Daoud, who had punctiliously observed the times of fatah when it was practicable. "They pray to their own gods," Nefret explained. "They are not gods, but false idols," declared Daoud. "No doubt that is true, Daoud," said Emerson. "But do not say so to these men." "That would be discourteous," said Daoud. "If Allah wishes to show them the right path, he will do so in his own way." "The world would be a better place if everyone thought as you do, Daoud," I said, patting his arm. "Now what about a language lesson?" At my insistence we had tried to do this every evening, and I had beguiled some of the long hours of riding by speaking Meroitic with Nefret. I should add that although I have used the word for convenience, strictly speaking, the language of the Holy City was neither Egyptian nor Meroitic, though it contained elements ofboth. It had once been Nefret's native tongue, but I confess I was surprised at how quickly she had regained her former fluency. Ramses's gift for languages stood him in good stead; I realized he must have begun studying Meroitic even before we left England, and he became even more proficient as the days passed. His father did not. However, as I have said, Emerson generally gets his point across in one way or another. Next day we passed through a region of heavy sand dunes. It was hard going for men and camels, and very boring. Squatting uncomfortably in the bassourab, I had fallen into a half-doze when an outcry from Emerson awoke me. I put my head out. "You must see this, Peabody," he exclaimed. "Let me help you down." We were nearing the top of one of the higher dunes. The sun was setting. At first I saw nothing except more cursed sand, but as we plodded onward and upward, a fantastic vision seemed to rise up out of the ground ahead: towers and battlements, black against the crimson sunset, like the ramparts of a medieval castle. "There it is," said Emerson. "The Holy Mountain." We stood staring in fascinated silence until we were joined by Ramses and Selim. The sight was magical, and a trifle ominous. Daoud, slightly behind the others, gave voice to my feelings. "Surely it is the castle of the King of the Afrits. We are going there?" "Yes," said Emerson. "Ah," said Daoud. And down he went, onto his knees to rub face and hands with sand in lieu of water. It was the proper time for prayer, but I suspected he would have done it anyhow. After a sidelong glance at Emerson, Selim joined him. We waited in silence, while the patient camels plodded past; and when our friends had finished their prayers Emerson said, "We had better catch them up now. Take my arm, Peabody, it's all downhill from here." Though the mountains had appeared so close, we were still a full day's journey away, and I began to suspect that Har was in no hurry to get there. He camped at the foot of the last large dune and allowed everyone a full night's sleep. His men were in a more cheerful mood now that home was in sight; there was laughter andeven some song round their fire that evening. Our own assemblage was not so merry, despite Daoud's efforts to cheer us up. With full confidence in Allah and, if I may say so, in us, he had decided afrits presented no threat and related several stories about how evil demons had been routed by devout and clever people. Nefret was quiet and thoughtful, and Daria stayed close to her. Ramses avoided both of them. He appeared to be brooding about something, but when I asked he denied that there was anything on his mind. We went on next day through the foothills of the massif that loomed ahead. Early in the afternoon, eyes weary of stony ground were cheered by the first sight of greenery--a few patches of grass and a single tree, of a species unknown to me. We were by then at the foot of the massif. It was an impressive sight, over five hundred meters in height, fringed with fallen boulders about its base. Only the most intrepid climber would have tackled those cliffs. There was only one way through them, and it took us another two hours to reach it: a long, slow ride round the southwest corner of the mountain mass. The entrance was barely wide enough to admit one camel at a time, and as my beast passed through, the framework of the bassourab scraped the rocky walls, which were of masonry, crudely but solidly built. That was the last I saw for some time, for dusky darkness closed in as we went on. The path twisted and turned. High above, the slit of twilit sky darkened and stars shone out. Torches flared along the length of the caravan; the camels quickened their pace. They sensed they were close to the journey's end, to food and water and rest. Then I heard a grating rumble, like the voice of a great beast. I knew what it was, but I did not blame Daria from seizing my hand and crying out. "What is this place? What is happening?" "Don't be afraid." Nefret's voice was remote, eerily distorted by echoes. "This entrance is secret and well guarded, but we are with friends." The sound had been that of the great rocks that barred the inner entrance being rolled aside. We rode through into a place I remembered well--a cleft open to the sky, which had been widened to serve as an animal corral and storage place. It was brightly lighted bytorches and crowded with people. Daria kept tight hold of my hand, and Nefret said impatiently, "There is nothing to be afraid of. Come, Aunt Amelia, let's get out of this horrible contrivance. Goodness, but I'm stiff." "Hang on a moment, my dear. I suspect the cursed camel is about to--" It did. Stiff as Nefret, I rolled out into the arms of Emerson, who gave me a quick squeeze before he lowered me to my feet. Ramses was there to lift Nefret down. He left Daria to Emerson. "Good to be back, eh, Peabody?" said Emerson, smiling broadly. "Hmmm," I said. "In my opinion, Emerson, that statement is a trifle premature. Many things may have changed since we were last here, and not all for the better." "One thing at least has not changed," Ramses said. He indicated several carrying chairs. The bearers stood beside them: short, heavily muscled men, dark of skin and bare of clothing except for a loincloth. Heads bowed, they waited passively for their orders like beasts of burden--which was what they were. Ramses went on, "The rekkit are still enslaved." We were now handed over to the civilian branch, in the form of a portly individual wearing the elegant pleated garment and rich ornaments of a high official. After he had exchanged a few words with Har, the latter gave us a generalized bow and went off. I had the distinct impression that he was relieved to get us off his hands; though perfectly courteous, he had avoided my attempts to strike up a conversation, and he had been no more forthcoming with Ramses. Nefret he had not addressed at all, except for brief, formal inquiries as to her well-being. The official approached us, bowing and smiling, and launched into what I took to be a speech of greeting. He spoke very rapidly, and my intellectual faculties were dulled by fatigue, so I asked Nefret to translate. "He said, 'Welcome to the Holy City, O Great Ones. The king and your loyal people await you.' " "How nice," I said, nodding graciously at the gentleman. "Tell him we--" "Ask him what he means by bringing those poor devils here," Emerson broke in, frowning at the litter bearers. "I will not be carried on the shoulders of slaves. And furthermore--" "Father, if I may?" Ramses did not wait for a response but went on quickly, "I suggest we postpone questions and complaints until we are with Tarek. I have a feeling the situation is more complicated than it appears." "Hmph. Well, I won't ride in one of those damned litters. It is a matter of principle," Emerson added loftily. The official, whose name is irrelevant to this narrative, had to accept this, since wrestling Emerson into one of the litters presented obvious difficulties, but I thought he would burst into tears when Nefret also declared her intention of walking. "Forget your confounded principles for the time being," said Ramses, who appeared to be in a state of mounting exasperation. "Let's just get to where we are going. Mother is tired, and Daria is about to drop in her tracks." I was a trifle surprised that Tarek had not come himself to greet us, but Ramses had the right of it. So we proceeded, we three women and the official in the carrying chairs, and the men walking behind and beside us. The winding passages through which we passed were rock-cut and narrow. The ramparts of the Holy Mountain were honeycombed with such passages, leading under and into and through the cliffs, excavated over the millennia by thousands of hands. Impossible to tell whether we had traversed this particular part of the maze before; the walls all looked the same. I expected we would emerge into the open air, with the city spread out before us, framed and hidden from the outside world by the heights all around. Instead, the rock-cut passage changed into a wider corridor, which debouched into a series of antechambers and at last into a large pillared room where the bearers stopped and lowered the litters to the floor. A single glance told me that this was not the same house in which we had dwelled on our first visit. Even after ten years I couldrecall every detail of that place; I had spent many weary hours in its confines. This room was airy and cool and prettily furnished with chests and tables and low bed frames piled high with embroidered cushions. Carved pillars supported the roof, and there were several curtained doorways along the walls. The litter bearers took up their burdens and went out through the doorway by which we had come. The official was about to follow them when Emerson interposed his person. "Take us to Tarek," he demanded in his primitive Meroitic. Visibly intimidated by the large form towering over him, the official began flapping his hands and talking very fast. "The king will send for us tomorrow," Ramses translated. "Tonight we are to rest and refresh ourselves after our long journey." "That makes sense, Emerson," I said. "We are travel-stained and weary, and Tarek has courteously allowed us time to rest before he greets us." Emerson abandoned his aggressive stance and came at once to