Read Online The Last Camel Died at Noon by Elizabeth Peters - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Historical, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Mystery & Detective - General, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), Crime & mystery, Egypt, General & Literary Fiction, Mystery & Detective - Series, Romantic suspense novels, Women archaeologists, Peabody, Amelia (Fictitious character), Mystery & Detective - Historical, Amelia (Fictitious ch, Egypt - Fiction, Amelia (Fictitious character) - Fiction
Ads: Link
accept an invitation from the British authorities. 'Invitation, my - ' Emerson would roar, employing language that made me clap my hands over my ears. 'He invited himself! He bullied, pushed, and toadied his way into going. Good Gad, Peabody, by the time that blackguard finishes, there won't be one stone left on another in Nubia, and he will have stolen every portable antiquity in the country for his cursed museum...'
And so on, at considerable length.
Though as a rule I attempted to defend Mr Budge against Emerson's more unreasonable complaints, I was a trifle out of sorts with him myself. A dispatch sent through military channels boasted of his making the arduous journey from Cairo to Kerma in only ten and one half days. I knew too well what the effect of this claim would be on my irascible spouse. Emerson would insist on bettering Budge's record.
The first stage, from Cairo to Assouan, was one we had made many times, and I anticipated no particular difficulty there. So it proved; but Assouan, which had been a sleepy little village, was now transformed into a vast depot for military supplies. Though we received every courtesy from Captain Pedley, he was tactless enough to tell Emerson he ought not allow his wife to travel into such a desolate and dangerous region. 'Allow!' Emerson repeated. '"Allow," did you say?'
Though scarcely less annoyed, I thought it best to change the subject. One must recognise the limitations of the military mind, as I later pointed out to Emerson. After a certain age -somewhere in the early twenties, I believe - it is virtually impossible to insert any new idea whatever into it.
Since travel by boat through the tumultuous, rocky rapids of the First Cataract is hazardous, we had to leave the steamer at Assouan and take the railroad to Shellal, at the south end of the cataract. There we were fortunate enough to find passage on a paddle wheeler. The captain turned out to be an old acquaintance of Emerson's. A good many of the inhabitants of Nubia turned out to be old acquaintances of Emerson's. At every wretched little village where the steamer took on wood for the boiler, voices would hail him 'Essalamu 'aleikum, Emerson Effendi! Marhaba, Oh Father of Curses!"' It was flattering, but somewhat embarrassing, especially when the greetings came (as they did upon one occasion) from the painted lips of a female individual inadequately draped in a costume that left little doubt as to her choice of profession.
Our quarters on the steamer, though far from the standards of cleanliness upon which I normally insist, were commodious enough. Despite the inconveniences (and the awkwardness I have referred to earlier), I greatly enjoyed the trip. The territory south of Assouan was new to me. The rugged grandeur of the scenery and the ruins lining the banks proved a constant source of entertainment. I took copious notes, of course, but since I plan to publish an account elsewhere, I will spare the Reader details. One sight must be mentioned, however; no one could pass by the majestic temple of Abu Simbel without a word of homage and appreciation.
Thanks to my careful planning and the amiable cooperation of Emerson's friend the captain, we came abreast of this astonishing structure at dawn, on one of the two days each year when the rays of the sun lifting over the eastern mountains strike straight through the entrance into the farthest recesses of the sanctuary and rest like a heavenly flame upon the altar. The effect was awe-inspiring, and even after the sun had soared higher and the arrow-shaft of golden light had faded, the view held us motionless at the rail of the boat. Four giant statues of Ramses II guard the entrance, greeting with inhuman dignity the daily advent of the god to whom the temple was dedicated, as they have done morning after morning for almost three thousand years.
Ramses stood beside us at the rail, and his normally impassive countenance showed signs of suppressed emotion as he
And so on, at considerable length.
Though as a rule I attempted to defend Mr Budge against Emerson's more unreasonable complaints, I was a trifle out of sorts with him myself. A dispatch sent through military channels boasted of his making the arduous journey from Cairo to Kerma in only ten and one half days. I knew too well what the effect of this claim would be on my irascible spouse. Emerson would insist on bettering Budge's record.
The first stage, from Cairo to Assouan, was one we had made many times, and I anticipated no particular difficulty there. So it proved; but Assouan, which had been a sleepy little village, was now transformed into a vast depot for military supplies. Though we received every courtesy from Captain Pedley, he was tactless enough to tell Emerson he ought not allow his wife to travel into such a desolate and dangerous region. 'Allow!' Emerson repeated. '"Allow," did you say?'
Though scarcely less annoyed, I thought it best to change the subject. One must recognise the limitations of the military mind, as I later pointed out to Emerson. After a certain age -somewhere in the early twenties, I believe - it is virtually impossible to insert any new idea whatever into it.
Since travel by boat through the tumultuous, rocky rapids of the First Cataract is hazardous, we had to leave the steamer at Assouan and take the railroad to Shellal, at the south end of the cataract. There we were fortunate enough to find passage on a paddle wheeler. The captain turned out to be an old acquaintance of Emerson's. A good many of the inhabitants of Nubia turned out to be old acquaintances of Emerson's. At every wretched little village where the steamer took on wood for the boiler, voices would hail him 'Essalamu 'aleikum, Emerson Effendi! Marhaba, Oh Father of Curses!"' It was flattering, but somewhat embarrassing, especially when the greetings came (as they did upon one occasion) from the painted lips of a female individual inadequately draped in a costume that left little doubt as to her choice of profession.
Our quarters on the steamer, though far from the standards of cleanliness upon which I normally insist, were commodious enough. Despite the inconveniences (and the awkwardness I have referred to earlier), I greatly enjoyed the trip. The territory south of Assouan was new to me. The rugged grandeur of the scenery and the ruins lining the banks proved a constant source of entertainment. I took copious notes, of course, but since I plan to publish an account elsewhere, I will spare the Reader details. One sight must be mentioned, however; no one could pass by the majestic temple of Abu Simbel without a word of homage and appreciation.
Thanks to my careful planning and the amiable cooperation of Emerson's friend the captain, we came abreast of this astonishing structure at dawn, on one of the two days each year when the rays of the sun lifting over the eastern mountains strike straight through the entrance into the farthest recesses of the sanctuary and rest like a heavenly flame upon the altar. The effect was awe-inspiring, and even after the sun had soared higher and the arrow-shaft of golden light had faded, the view held us motionless at the rail of the boat. Four giant statues of Ramses II guard the entrance, greeting with inhuman dignity the daily advent of the god to whom the temple was dedicated, as they have done morning after morning for almost three thousand years.
Ramses stood beside us at the rail, and his normally impassive countenance showed signs of suppressed emotion as he
Similar Books
