Anne Rice by The Mummy or Ramses the Damned

Author:The Mummy or Ramses the Damned
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-01-09T09:25:33+00:00

“But Ramses, did she really refuse the elixir?”

He paused. It was as if he didn’t want to answer. Then:

“In her own way, she refused it. You see, she couldn’t understand finally what it was, the elixir. Later, she begged me to give it to Mark Antony.”

“I see. It’s a wonder I didn’t guess it.”

“Mark Antony was a man who had destroyed his life and hers also. But she didn’t know what she was asking. She didn’t understand. She did not realize what such a thing would have meant-a selfish King and Queen with such power. And the formula, they would have wanted that too. Would Antony not have wanted immortal armies?”

“Good God!” she whispered.

Ramses stopped suddenly and moved away from her. They had come some distance from the temple and he turned back, looking at the giant seated figures again.

“But why did you write the story in the scrolls?” she asked. She couldn’t stop herself.

“Cowardice, my love. Cowardice, and the dream that someone would come who would find me and my strange tale, and take the burden of secrecy from my shoulders! I had failed, my love. My strength was gone. And so I slipped into dreams and left the story there … like an offering to fate. I could be strong no longer.”

She came to him and threw her arms around him. He didn’t look at her. He was looking at the statues still. The tears were in his eyes.

“Maybe I dreamed that someday I’d be awakened again, to a new world. To new and wise beings. Maybe I dreamed of someone who … would take the challenge.” His voice broke. “And I would be the lone wanderer no more. Ramses the Damned would become once again Ramses the Immortal.”

He looked as if his own words had surprised him. Then he looked down at her and, closing his hands tightly on her shoulders, lifted her as he kissed her.

With her whole soul she yielded. She felt his arras gathering her up. She leaned against his chest as he carried her towards the tent, and the flickering firelight. The stars fell down over the distant shadowy hills. The desert was a great tranquil sea stretching out on all sides from this sanctuary of warmth which they now entered.

Incense here; the smell of wax candles. He set her down on silken pillows, on a carpet of dark woven flowers. The dancing flames of the candles made her close her eyes. Perfume rising from the silk beneath her. A bower he had made, for her, for himself, for this moment.

“I love you, Julie Stratford,” he whispered in her ear. “My English Queen. My timeless beauty.”

His kisses were paralyzing her. She lay back, eyes closed, and let him open her tight lace blouse, let him loosen the hooks of her skirt. Luxuriating in this helplessness, she let him rip away the chemise and the corset, and pull down the long lace undergarments. She lay naked, looking up at him as he knelt over her, peeling off his own garments.

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