Scroll Of Saqqara Part 19

"Oh yes, of course. Well, do it, and give the scroll to me. When you return from Koptos you will come first to my house and I will give it back to you. Then you will give it to the Prince."

"n.o.ble One, this is contemptible!" Ptah-Seankh choked out, furious and afraid, knowing that all she said was true and if he wanted a long and prosperous career in the Prince's generous service he would have to do as she requested. The act would poison him, he realized. It would be a dirty secret between himself and this unscrupulous woman that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Is it contemptible to give the Prince what he wants?" she asked, sweetly reasonable. "Surely not. He desires me and will marry me no matter what, but how much happier he will be to do so with the approval of both history and Ramses."

Ptah-Seankh could say no more. He took the pen and quickly finished the scroll, then he pa.s.sed it up to her. Taking it, she indicated that he might rise. He did so, fighting to stilt the trembling in his knees. "Remember," she said, "not one word of this to anyone, even when you are drunk. If you speak of it, and I find out, I will not only disgrace you, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

He did. Brushing those implacable, determined eyes with his own he was convinced that she was capable of doing as she said. She must have seen her threat go home, for she pursed her lips, satisfied. "Good. Now tell the herald waiting in the pa.s.sage to go and announce me to the Princess Nubnofret. I must pay my respects."

With all the dignity he could muster, Ptah-Seankh gathered up his palette, bowed and left the room. Any respect and admiration he might have had for her died even as he was closing the door politely behind him, and he knew that he would be at the beck and call of a woman he hated for the rest of his working life.

THE HERALD'S VOICE had scarcely ceased to echo in the high ceiling of Nubnofret's quarters when Wernuro ushered Tbubui forward. Nubnofret rose from the chair where she had obviously been inspecting the household accounts. At a word her steward gathered up the mess of scrolls on the table behind which he had been standing, bowed to both women and backed out of the room. had scarcely ceased to echo in the high ceiling of Nubnofret's quarters when Wernuro ushered Tbubui forward. Nubnofret rose from the chair where she had obviously been inspecting the household accounts. At a word her steward gathered up the mess of scrolls on the table behind which he had been standing, bowed to both women and backed out of the room.

Nubnofret went forward unsmiling, and Wernuro closed the doors and settled herself in a corner. One other servant hovered discreetly just out of earshot. Nubnofret waved Tbubui further into the room.

"I received the message that you were coming," she said curtly, "and I apologize for greeting you so hastily, Tbubui. Today is the day I go over the expenditures for the house with my steward, and we have barely finished." Her eyes flicked over the other woman's attire without expression and returned to her face. Tbubui bowed.

"And I apologize for coming at such an inauspicious time," she responded with equal gravity. "I do not intend to waste your time, Princess. I believe that the Prince has told you of his decision to make me his Second Wife."

Nubnofret nodded, her good manners freezing into an icy politeness. One did not bring up such matters so abruptly. Traditionally, the soon-to-be Second Wife waited for an invitation from the Chief Wife to officially enter the house and inspect the quarters prepared for her, or if the Chief Wife neglected her duty in presenting the invitation, she spent several hours in idle and light conversation before hesitantly and very carefully bringing up the subject of the marriage. The brief flare of friendship Nubnofret had felt for Tbubui had died long ago, and now it was being nailed into its coffin.

"I wished to come and visit you as soon as possible," Tbubui went on, "to a.s.sure you of my respect and affection and to tell you that nothing will change here in your home."

You impudent b.i.t.c.h, Nubnofret thought viciously. You swagger in here without being asked and then you have the gall to condescend to me.

"Please be seated if you wish," she said aloud. "Would you like some refreshment?" It was not her custom to ask. Usually guests would be immediately offered a variety of food and drink. She had the satisfaction of seeing a slight flush creep into Tbubui's cheeks, though her calm gaze did not falter.

"How kind of you," Tbubui said. Nubnofret did not miss the faint whiff of sarcasm in the gracious words. "But the heat quite s.n.a.t.c.hes my appet.i.te away." She had not sat down. She remained on her feet, confident and effortlessly lovely, and Nubnofret had to crush an instant of pure, undiluted jealousy.

"I am sorry," she replied swiftly before she was able to help herself. "I was under the impression that you loved the heat."

Tbubui lifted one bare shoulder prettily and laughed. "I do indeed love it," she admitted, "for it compels me to eat less and thus maintain my weight."

One blow for you, Nubnofret thought, looking at the slim and faultless body. She smiled without warmth, a courtier's smile, and, c.o.c.king her head to one side, deliberately waited for Tbubui to go on. She was determined not to bring up the matter of the marriage, and for a moment there was an impa.s.se. I can play this game better than you, Nubnofret thought again. I was born to it. I could have forgiven you your beauty, for that is not of your own making. I could have forgiven you for stealing Khaemwaset's heart away from me. But I can never forgive you your common, cheap, bad manners. As she had expected, it was Tbubai who gave in first.

"'Highness, we were once friends," she broke the silence, "but today I detect a small withdrawal on your Highness's part." She took a step towards Nubnofret and spread her hands in an appealing gesture. "My protestations of respect and affection are honest. I have no intention of interfering in matters of your authority."

Nubnofret raised her eyebrows. "I fail to see how you could interfere even if you wanted to," she said. "I have lived with Khaemwaset for many years. I know him as you do not; moreover, the ordering of the household and the regulating of the lives of other wives and concubines belongs to a Chief Wife. Any changes are made by me. As to your respect and affection, well ..." she paused, ... "if you are wise you will work towards acquiring both from me, or your life could well be a trifle uncomfortable. We must learn to live together, Tbubui. I think we should agree to a polite truce. Let us begin with honesty." She accented the last word. Tbubui was watching her warily, the veneer of coyness gone and replaced by a critical coldness. Her face had become mask-like. Nubnofret folded her arms. "I do not think you are good for my husband," she went on with a deliberate steadiness she did not really feel. "He has neglected his work and his family and has been in some agony of mind because of you. Do not forget that the violence of infatuation can turn to disgust very quickly, so I advise you to tread carefully around me. Khaemwaset cares little for the running of this estate. He has always left that to me. He will continue to do so. If you attempt to interfere, if you run to him with petty grievances, you will first bore and then annoy him. If you co-operate, you will be welcome here. I certainly have more to do than worry about your comfort. Do you understand?"

Tbubui had listened intently, her skin paling to a sallow tightness so that she gradually seemed to become all eyes and thinning mouth. But when Nubnofret had finished speaking she took two more gliding steps that brought her face inches from Nubnofret's own. Her breath when she spoke was cold and unpleasant.

"What you you fail to understand, Highness, is the depth of your husband's obsession with me," she said in a low, forceful voice. "It is no infatuation, I promise you. I am in his vitals, not you. If you try to discredit me you will come to grief. From now on, no one will be able to speak against me to him, for I have his complete trust. He is mine, body, mind, and ka. I have my hands between his legs, Princess, just where he likes it. If I caress, he will purr. If I squeeze, he will yelp in agony. But make no mistake, he is mine to do with as I wish." fail to understand, Highness, is the depth of your husband's obsession with me," she said in a low, forceful voice. "It is no infatuation, I promise you. I am in his vitals, not you. If you try to discredit me you will come to grief. From now on, no one will be able to speak against me to him, for I have his complete trust. He is mine, body, mind, and ka. I have my hands between his legs, Princess, just where he likes it. If I caress, he will purr. If I squeeze, he will yelp in agony. But make no mistake, he is mine to do with as I wish."

Nubnofret was almost faint with shock. She had seldom seen such venom in her life, or heard such words. This woman was something wild, something completely lacking in human conscience or decency, and for the s.p.a.ce of one breath Nubnofret was shaken by a gush of terror. She knew that what the woman said was true. Then she rallied. "I do not believe that you care for my husband at all," she said coldly. "You are nothing but a greedy peasant with the heart of a wh.o.r.e. You are dismissed."

Tbubui moved away and bowed. She was smiling now, though her att.i.tude was deferential. "It is not a wh.o.r.e's heart heart that I have, Princess," she remarked as she backed down the room. "I seem to have offended your Highness. I do apologize." Wernuro had scrambled to her feet and was holding the door open. With a last bow Tbubui straightened and glided out of sight that I have, Princess," she remarked as she backed down the room. "I seem to have offended your Highness. I do apologize." Wernuro had scrambled to her feet and was holding the door open. With a last bow Tbubui straightened and glided out of sight

15.

I speak of a great matter, and cause that ye shall hearken.

I give unto you a thought for eternity, a rule of life for living in righteousness and for spending a lifetime in happiness.

Honour the King, the Eternal ...

A SUBDUED AND QUIET A SUBDUED AND QUIET Ptah-Seankh left for Koptos the following day, armed with Khaemwaset's written instructions on the procedure he was to follow, and the family settled into the period of mourning. Their loss had not brought them together, indeed without music, entertainments or the feasting of guests, the bare bones of their estrangement from one another began to show through, stark and cruel. Nubnofret had completely withdrawn from them all. Hori, too, had retreated into his private h.e.l.l where even Sheritra, though they spent much time together, could not follow. Ptah-Seankh left for Koptos the following day, armed with Khaemwaset's written instructions on the procedure he was to follow, and the family settled into the period of mourning. Their loss had not brought them together, indeed without music, entertainments or the feasting of guests, the bare bones of their estrangement from one another began to show through, stark and cruel. Nubnofret had completely withdrawn from them all. Hori, too, had retreated into his private h.e.l.l where even Sheritra, though they spent much time together, could not follow.

Khaemwaset seemed oblivious to it all. Most days he disappeared in the afternoons, unremarked by all save Nubnofret, who did not comment, and he would return for the evening meal bemused and monosyllabic. Nubnofret suspected that he spent the time on Tbubui's couch, and she abhorred the breaking of the mourning rules, but proudly said no word. Khaemwaset would have liked to order the work on the addition to continue, but that stricture he dared not break. The workmen went back to their villages and the half-finished, unpainted walls stood amid a tumble of waiting bricks and rank gra.s.s, baking in the summer sun.

Sheritra had sent a letter to Harmin with her love and an apology and had received a short note in return. "Be a.s.sured of my deepest devotion, Little Sun," it had said. "Come and see me when you can." She had carried it about with her for days, tucked into her belt, and when the forlornness that had become the predominant mood of the house threatened to overtake her, she would pull it out and read it, raising it to her lips. At those times she would feel a resurgence of the anger that had shaken her on the morning she had, in all ignorance, come home to see Hori.

The remainder of the seventy days of mourning dragged to a close, and Nubnofret began to make plans for the impending journey to Thebes. She remained encased in frigid correctness, and Khaemwaset left her alone. Before he and the rest of the family walked up the ramp into the capacious barge he received word from Ptah-Seankh in Koptos, letting him know that the work was progressing satisfactorily, his father was being beautified with all due care and respect, and he would not be delayed in returning to Memphis with the information his master had requested. Khaemwaset was relieved. He had somehow irrationally believed that some disaster would befall Ptah-Seankh also, that he was fated never to welcome Tbubui into his home with all clauses of the contract fulfilled, but this time all was going smoothly.

Nevertheless, he stood on the deck of the barge and watched his watersteps recede with a great resentment. He did not want to go, and was surprised to hear his feeling expressed aloud by a pale and moody Sheritra, who was leaning on the rail beside him. "I should be happy to perform this last duty for Grandmother," she said, "but I hate it. Hate it! I just want it to be over so that I can come home again." There was no shamefacedness in the words, no suggestion of selfishness in the inflection she used. She was flatly stating a fact. Khaemwaset did not reply. He glanced behind them to where Si-Montu's barge was following, Si-Montu himself and Ben-Anath standing side by side in the prow. Seeing his look they both waved, and he reluctantly waved back. Si-Montu seemed like a stranger now. All his relatives were strangers. Did I ever know these people? he wondered as the riverbank slipped by under his unseeing gaze. Did I ever greet them familiarly as kin, perhaps as friends? When was the last time I spoke to Si-Montu? Then he remembered, and a feeling of being smothered gripped him. The family is broken, he thought. Si-Montu, Ramses, they probably believe that they have received no communications from me because I have been fearsomely busy. They do not know that everything has changed, everything is broken. That the pieces cannot be welded together again because I am a piece, Nubnofret is a piece, Hori and Sheritra are pieces, sharp, jagged, grinding against each other, because there is no one to take us and fit us one into the other again And I simply do not care. He heard Hori swear loudly at one of the sailors, then silence descended on the deck once more. Sheritra sighed beside him and fell to picking a flake of golden paint from the rail. I do not care, Khaemwaset thought lazily. I do not care.

Dazed and quiet, they settled into their cramped quarters in the palace, for the royal residence in Thebes was smaller, too small to comfortably hold all the inhabitants of the mighty city within a city at Pi-Ramses who had come out of respect for Astnofert. "I feel as though I have been drugged," was Sheritra's comment as her sandals tapped an echo from the gleaming floor. Khaemwaset watched Bakmut follow her and the door close behind them. "What nonsense!" Nubnofret snapped before disappearing herself. Hori had already slipped away.

Khaemwaset stood for a moment, listening to the soughing of the desert wind in the wind-catchers. Drugged, he thought. Yes, it is like that. The palace vibrated around him with s.n.a.t.c.hes of music, formal cries of soldiers changing the guard, the high laughter of young girls, the aroma of food and flowers, the pulse of life. He himself felt as though he had been ill and was still very delicate. His bewildered senses were being a.s.saulted by so much vitality, so much carefree energy, and he had an absurd desire to burst into tears. But he shook off the weakness and, after sending a herald to acquaint his father that he and the family had arrived, he went in search of Si-Montu. His brother, however, was nowhere to be found, and Ben-Anath greeted Khaemwaset cheerfully but absently, already surrounded by her friends. Disconsolately, Khaemwaset wandered back to the suite, through crowds that recognized him and parted for him, bowing. He hardly noticed them. Tbubui's face was not among them, therefore they did not exist.

He was not surprised to find a summons from his father already waiting for him when he stepped into his quarters. Pharaoh commanded his presence without delay. He was waiting in his private office behind the throne room. Khaemwaset had given little thought to Ramses' current marriage negotiations, but their tortuous convolutions came back to him now, and as he strode unwillingly through the suffocating throngs of courtiers another memory, likewise submerged, floated whole and distastefully vivid into his mind. An old man, coughing politely, one desiccated hand grasping the amulet of Thoth that hung on his wasted chest and the other proffering a scroll. It had been oddly heavy for such a thin piece of papyrus, Khaemwaset remembered. He glanced suddenly down at his hand, feeling again its brittle fragility. He had lost it. He remembered that, too. Somewhere between the fiery torches outside the north door of the palace at Pi-Ramses and his own quarters the wretched thing had disappeared. For no reason he could fathom, his thoughts were turning of their own accord to the bogus Scroll of Thoth, once more sewn securely to the hand of an unknown man lying withered in his coffin. With an exclamation, Khaemwaset wrenched himself back to the present and Ib inquired politely, "Did your Highness speak?"

"No," Khaemwaset said shortly. "I did not. We have arrived, Ib. Claim a stool outside the doors and wait for me."

The Herald had ceased calling his t.i.tles and was bowing Khaemwaset into the room. Khaemwaset walked forward.

Just where the floor seemed to slide away into a gleaming infinity, its flow was broken by a mighty cedar desk. Behind it Ramses sat, gold-hung arms folded across his slightly concave, equally bejewelled chest, the wings of his white-and-blue-striped linen helmet framing the fastidious, slightly disdainful face Khaemwaset knew so well. His father's beaked nose and dark, glossy eyes had always reminded Khaemwaset of an alert Horus, but today his birdlike watchfulness had a quality of the predator about it. Khaemwaset, coming up beside the desk and kneeling to kiss the royal feet, thought that Ramses' expression had more in common with the vulture glaring down at him from the helmet's headband than with the hawk-son of Osiris.

The Royal Scribe Tehuti-Emheb had risen from his position on a cushion just behind Pharaoh, and, together with a wrinkled and still blandly inscrutable Ashahebsed who was delicately balancing a silver ewer in both hands, he reverenced Khaemwaset. Brusquely he flapped a hand at them and they rose, the scribe to regain his place and Ashahebsed to pour a stream of purple wine into the chased gold cup at Ramses' right. His glance briefly crossed Khaemwaset's own, and Khaemwaset read the same haughty dislike they had always felt for each other in Ashahebsed's watery old eyes.

But he had no time to respond, for Ramses was sitting back, crossing his legs slowly, hooking one arm over the back of his chair with casual yet studied grace. He did not invite his son to take the chair that stood vacant beside him. Instead he gracefully indicated the pile of scrolls to his left. His red-hennaed lips did not smile.

"Greetings, Khaemwaset," he said smoothly. "I do not think that I have ever seen you looking so unhealthy." The royal nose wrinkled slightly. The royal eyes held steadily on Khaemwaset's face. "You are yellow and haggard," Pharaoh went on relentlessly, "so that I am almost disposed to pity you instead of extending to you the discipline you deserve." Now his mouth twitched in a wintry curve. "I said almost. These scrolls all contain complaints from the ministers to whom you owe your attention. Letters unanswered, estimates unapproved, vacant positions in minor ministries still unfilled, because you, Prince, have been shamefully neglecting your responsibilities." He unhooked his arm, put his elbows on the desk, and steepling his many-ringed fingers under his chin he stared at Khaemwaset with calculated disgust. Khaemwaset dared not break his gaze in order to glance at Ashahebsed, but he sensed the man's hidden glee. He did not mind Tehuti-Emheb's presence, for it was his job to record the exchange and whatever its results might be, but Khaemwaset was suddenly furious with his father for not dismissing the old cupbearer. Knowing Ramses as he did, he was sure Ashahebsed's presence was no oversight. Khaemwaset refused to be discomfited. Neither man would gossip, and the truth was that he deserved the Mighty Bull's disapproval. Nevertheless, the fumes of anger coiled, acrid and bitter, in his throat. "But these things, though puzzling and annoying, do not merit the totality of my divine displeasure," Ramses went on. "Twice your mother's steward sent messages to you regarding her worsening health, yet she died without the comfort of your presence. I want to know why, Khaemwaset."

Wild excuses flitted rapidly through Khaemwaset's mind. I did not receive the messages. My scribe read them to me and misinterpreted their scrawl. I was ready to come but then fell ill. You can see, Great Horus, how ill I have been. I have fallen desperately in love with a beautiful woman so that nothing and no one else exists for me, and even the suffering of my dying mother meant only an annoying inconvenience. He spread out his hands.

"I can offer no explanation, Divine One," he said.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Ramses stared at him in disbelief. "You are defying me!" he shouted, the controlled, suave voice gone under the force of his rage, and Khaemwaset realized that his father was genuinely, perhaps even dangerously, furious. He waited, saying nothing.

Ramses began to caress the long, gold-and carnelian earring lying against his neck, stroking it between his forefinger and thumb. He was frowning. Then, abruptly, he gave the bauble a tug and snapped his fingers. "Ashahebsed, Tehuti-Emheb, you are dismissed," he said sharply. Both men immediately bowed, the scribe as he rose with his palette balanced on both palms, and backed down the room towards the door. Ramses paid them no more attention, "You may sit, Khaemwaset," he invited, his voice calmly dry once more, and Khaemwaset did so.

"Thank you, Father," he said.

"Now you may speak," Ramses went on. It was not a suggestion, Khaemwaset realized, it was a command. The double doors boomed closed. He was alone with this man, this G.o.d who held the fate of every Egyptian between his withered, carefully hennaed palms, and who had the power to punish his, Khaemwaset's, laxity in any way he chose. He was waiting, head slightly tilted, eyebrows raised, those thickly kohled, all-knowing eyes harshly impatient. I have always been his favourite, Khaemwaset thought with a twinge of apprehension, but to be the favourite of an intelligent, devious and unscrupulous G.o.d-What does it mean? He took a deep breath.

"I do have an explanation, Father," he began, "but no excuse. I have shamefully neglected every duty to Egypt, to you and to the G.o.ds, and my treatment of Mother has been nothing short of d.a.m.nable, even though I knew perfectly well that she could die at any moment. She received that warning and pa.s.sed it on to me, but I paid no attention." He swallowed, still angry, knowing that he was talking of shame but not feeling it, hoping that his father would not pierce to the truth with those preternaturally observant old eyes.

"We know all this," Ramses cut in laconically. "You are indulging yourself, Khaemwaset. I have an audience with a delegation from Alashia in three days' time so you had better hurry your explanation."

"Very well," he said simply. "I have fallen in love with great violence, so that for some months now I have been unable to concentrate on anything else. I have offered the woman a contract and been accepted, and only a confirmation of her n.o.ble status stands between us. That is all."

Ramses stared at him, dumbfounded, then all at once he began to laugh, a rich, robust burst of sound that stripped ten years from his appearance. "Khaemwaset in love? Impossible!" he gasped. "The Mighty Prince of Propriety besotted? Delicious! Tell me all about this remarkable personage, Khaemwaset. I might decide to forgive you your terrible faults after all."

Obediently, Khaemwaset began to describe Tbubui to his father, and as he did so a wave of homesickness overtook him, mixed with a strange impression of inner warping, as though he were not really here in thus sumptuous office listening to a voice he barely recognized as his own, forcing out hesitant and clumsy words that had little to do with the razor-sharp keenness of his emotions. The shrewd eyes of the man leaning over the desk opposite him glowed with relish. Khaemwaset's explanation trailed away into silence and Ramses sat straight.

"I expect to have the woman presented to me on your next visit to Pi-Ramses," he said. "If she is half as irresistible as you say, I shall order the marriage void and put her in my harem. But I daresay she is one of those stringy, s.e.xless, serious females who would rather open a scroll than her legs. I know your taste, my son. I have always been astounded that you chose to marry a woman as voluptuous as Nubnofret." He lifted the golden cup at his elbow with three fastidious fingers and sipped at the wine, peering cunningly at Khaemwaset over the rim. "And speaking of Nubnofret," he said, running his tongue carefully along his red lips, "what opinion has she expressed of your Second Wife-to-be?"

Khaemwaset grinned weakly, still in the grip of that uncomfortable distortion. "She is not happy, Divine One."

"And that is because she has ruled your roost alone for far too long," Ramses came back swiftly. "She must learn to be more humble. Arrogance in a woman is a most distasteful trait."

Khaemwaset blinked. His father's harem was full of quarrelsome, fiery, self-opinionated females able to give Pharaoh the challenge he most loved.

"What of your children?" Ramses was saying. "Hori and Sheritra? Have they an opinion?"

"I have not yet asked them for one, Father."

"Oh." All at once Ramses seemed to lose interest in the conversation. Putting a hand flat on his shrunken chest he rose, and Khaemwaset immediately came to his feet. "Tomorrow your mother will be placed in her tomb," Ramses said. "I abhor your weakness, my son, in allowing all else in your life to drift into chaos while you pursued this creature, but I do understand. There will be no punishment, providing Egypt may once again rely on you to discharge your duties promptly."

Khaemwaset bowed. "I do not deserve your clemency," he commented and Ramses agreed.

"No, you do not," he said, "but no one else can be trusted with the tasks I give to you, Khaemwaset. Merenptah is a bombastic idiot and my son Ramses is a drunken sot."

Diplomatically Khaemwaset changed the subject as the two of them began to move towards the doors. "I received no communication regarding your Majesty's own marriage negotiations," he said carefully. "I trust all is going well."

Ramses snorted disdainfully. "The Khatti princess is on her way," he said. "She will arrive in about a month, providing she is not eaten by wild animals or raped and murdered by brigands on the desert tracks. To tell you the truth, Khaemwaset, I am tired of her already, though I have yet to meet her. It is her dowry that whets my appet.i.te, not her soft, royal skin. You will of course be present when she piles it all before me and bends her hopefully pretty little knees." He gave Khaemwaset a sharply hostile glare. "This is your last chance, Khaemwaset. Fail me in this and you will find yourself patrolling the Western Desert with the Medjay for the rest of your life. I mean it."

Ramses did not linger by the door. Kissing Khaemwaset perfunctorily on the cheek he strode regally away, his rowdy retinue falling in around him, leaving the Prince to collect Ib and make his way back to his suite. Khaemwaset suddenly found that he was exhausted. I must not let this happen again, he thought, his eyes on Ib's st.u.r.dy, flexing spine. I must discharge my duties no matter what, I must cling to some kind of perspective. But already Tbubui's face filled his inner vision while his father's shrank into nothingness, and he ached with the need to be with her again.

Astnofert's funeral the next day emptied the palace. Her cortege straggled for more than three miles from the edge of the royal estate, across the Nile, where rafts plied to and fro for hours, ferrying mourners and courtiers, and into the rocky desolation of the valley where all queens had been buried for hundreds of years. Tents had been erected for the members of the immediate family and for the sem-priests and the High Priest performing the ceremonies. The remaining crowds fended for themselves, setting up shelters in whatever shade they could find and pa.s.sing the time in sleep or gossip, while Astnofert's linen-wound corpse in its heavy quartz sarcophagus was surrounded with spells and prepared for its final journey into the dark silence of the tomb.

For three days Khaemwaset and his family stood or sat, prostrated themselves or danced the ritual funerary movements, while the fierce Theban sun sucked the moisture out of their skin and the sand blew in choking eddies to cling to their sweat and sift its way under their clothes. Then it was over. Khaemwaset entered the tomb with his father to lay flower wreaths on the bulky nest of coffins inside which, like the answer to some convoluted puzzle, Astnofert lay. The servants swept their footprints away as they retreated into the sunshine, and the sem-priests threaded the knotted rope through the doorseals and stood ready with the imprint of the jackal and nine captives, the insignia of death.

Ramses turned away without a word, shaking the sand from his feet as he got onto his litter. Khaemwaset and his family did the same, and were carried back to the sluggish river and the raft and at last into the relative coolness of the palace in a haze of fatigue. As soon as they reached the privacy of their rooms, Khaemwaset swung to his steward.

"Ib," he said, "order our belongings packed. We are returning to Memphis tomorrow morning." Ib nodded and went away. Nubnofret had been standing nearby and she came up to Khaemwaset. For a moment they regarded one another. Khaemwaset saw her hand tremble, as though she had been about to reach out and touch him and had then thought better of it. Her face became closed.

"Khaemwaset," she said quietly, "I would like to go north with Ramses when he returns to the Delta. I need a rest. I need time away from the constant dust and noise of construction at home. It would not be for long. A month, perhaps."

Khaemwaset considered her. Her expression was politely neutral and her eyes gave back nothing. She wants to get away from me, he thought. From me.

"I am sorry, Nubnofret," he replied emphatically. "You have an estate to run, and Tbubui will be moving into the concubines' house as soon as we are unpacked. If you are not there to welcome her officially and ease her transition you will be committing a breach of good manners, and besides, what would people say?"

"They would say that Nubnofret, Chief Wife of Prince Khaemwaset, does not like his Highness's choice for a Second Wife and wishes to show her displeasure by her temporary absence," she snapped back. "Have you so little consideration for my feelings, Khaemwaset? Do you not care that I am worried about you, that your father is worried about you, that Tbubui will bring ruin upon you?" She gave him a withering look, grunted scornfully and stalked away.

I am so tired of all this confusion, Khaemwaset thought, watching her go. Within me and without, a constant whirl of conflict, pain, desire, remorse, guilt. "Ib," he shouted more loudly than was necessary. "Find Amek! We are going back across the river, to the ruined temple of Queen Hatshepsut. There are inscriptions I want to examine before we leave!" Work is the answer, he told himself fervently. Work will make the time pa.s.s more rapidly, and then the movement of the barge floating home, floating back to sanity, and then she will be there, on my estate, and everything will become lucid again. He left the suite, slamming the doors closed behind him.

HORI HAD LIVED his own misery in Thebes, avoiding his many relatives and trying to wear himself out by donning peasant linen and walking the river tracks, meandering through the markets, or standing for hours in the temple of Amun behind one of the forest of pillars in the outer court, watching the incense rise from the inner court and shiver in an almost invisible cloud against a blue sky, and trying to pray. But prayer was impossible. Only words of bitterness, black and angry, would come. his own misery in Thebes, avoiding his many relatives and trying to wear himself out by donning peasant linen and walking the river tracks, meandering through the markets, or standing for hours in the temple of Amun behind one of the forest of pillars in the outer court, watching the incense rise from the inner court and shiver in an almost invisible cloud against a blue sky, and trying to pray. But prayer was impossible. Only words of bitterness, black and angry, would come.

It was on one of these occasions, as he was striding away from the temple towards the donkey-choked traffic along the river road that his name was called. He halted and turned, shading his eyes. A litter had been lowered not ten paces away and the curtain had been twitched open. Hori glimpsed one long brown leg, its calf wound with glinting gold anklets, and a drift of snowy linen. For one moment his heart gave a lurch and he began to run towards Tbubui, but then the figure leaned out, shorter, younger than the creature of his imagination, and the daughter of Pharaoh's Chief Architect, Nefert-khay, was smiling at him. He remembered her vaguely from his last trip to the Delta, a pretty and vivacious girl who had sat beside him at one of the feasts and who had later done her best to make him kiss her. She bowed as he came up to the litter.

"Nefert-khay," he said heavily.

"So I was right," she said gaily. "It is Prince Hori. I knew you would be in Thebes for your grandmother's funeral, but I did not expect you to remember me. I am flattered, Highness!"

"How could I not remember you?" he bantered back with as much lightness as he could muster. "You are hardly the most modest and retiring lady at court! It is good to see you again, Nefert-khay. Where are you going?"

She laughed, showing even white teeth. "I was about to spend an hour saying my prayers, but to tell you the truth, Prince, I really wanted to get away from the palace. We are jammed into the available accommodations like fish in a frying pan so that I could hardly breathe. And you?"

"I have just finished my prayers," Hori replied gravely. "I thought I might walk a little by the river." Somehow it was good to talk to her. She was fresh-faced, uncomplicated, a healthy young animal with her four thick, l.u.s.trous braids bouncing against the unblemished skin of her near-naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her air of optimistic energy, her smiling clear eyes. Hori felt a little of his sourness lift.

She grimaced in mock horror. "Alone, Highness? No friend, no guard? I have a good idea. Let us find a secluded part of the river and go swimming. I can say my prayers this evening. Amun will not mind."

His first impulse was to make an excuse, but he found himself almost unwillingly grinning back at her. "Thank you," he said. "I can think of nothing more pleasurable. Do you know of such a place?"

"No, but we can have the bearers tramp here and there until we find one. Thebes is only a town after all." She wriggled away from him and patted the dent her body had left in the cushions. "Will you ride with me, Prince?"

Again he had intended to refuse, to walk beside the litter, but he found himself sliding down beside her. The litter rose and began to sway. "A quiet spot by the river please, Simut!" she shouted to her chief bearer, then she let the curtain fall and turned to Hori, her flawless little face inches from his own. All at once he was aware of his grubby kilt, his tangled, unwashed hair, the grit seaming his skin. "If you were ten years younger I would say that you are a naughty little boy who has run away from home," she said frankly after regarding him for a while. "You look as though you have already been through many hair-raising adventures. Does your royal father know where you are?"

Admiration for her made him smile. "I apologize, Nefert-khay," he said humbly. "I have a hard thing on my mind and it has made me careless of all save its constant pain." He ran a hand self-consciously through his tresses. "Meeting you was very opportune ..."

"Because you knew you were in dire need of a wash," she finished for him, giggling. "Highness, you are an annoying, frustrating, altogether unapproachable man. You appear at court, always seemingly out of nowhere. You drift about the corridors and gardens with your nose in the air and your thoughts far away, then you disappear again. You are the subject of lip-smacking gossip among my friends when the antics of those at court become boring. Someone will say, 'I think I saw Prince Hori yesterday, down by the fountains, but I cannot be sure. Is he at court again?' and no one will really know, and then we begin to discuss your mystery and then we berate you for our boredom and unhappiness." She giggled again, a squirming, vitally alive, fragrantly perfumed example of the best of Egypt's feminine n.o.bility.

An overwhelming temptation to bare his soul came to Hori. He wanted to spill everything into those delicate, sh.e.l.l-like ears, to watch her frown and become solemn, but he refused the impulse. She is better for me this way, he thought. Funny, vibrant, dragging me out of myself for one afternoon. "I had no idea that so many eddies were created in my wake," he protested honestly. She turned onto her back, her knees up, and began to twirl a thoroughly wilted pink lotus flower in her fingers.

"I expect I exaggerate," she admitted, unrepentant. "You are probably not mysterious at all. My friends and I are probably mistaking a merely vacant expression for something exciting and exotic. Women are so foolishly romantic, aren't they, Highness?"

Some are, he thought grimly. And some are cruel, and some care nothing for romance but only wealth and position, and some use their seductiveness to maim. "There is nothing wrong with romance," he said firmly. "Love is wonderful, Nefert-khay."

She sighed gustily. "Is it, Prince? Are you in love? Do men dream foolishly and stand gazing at nothing with a stupid expression on their faces? And steal a bracelet or even a piece of papyrus from the object of their desires so they can kiss it and press it to their bosoms when no one is looking?" She rolled her head and gazed at him in mock seriousness. "Do they?"

How innocent you are, he thought, looking down at her. Even with your palace sophistication, your patter, your worldliness, you are so blessedly innocent. I do not see that expression on Sheritra's face. Not anymore.

"How old are you, Nefert-khay?" he asked suddenly.

She pouted. "Oh dear," she said. "I am going to get an indulgent lecture. I am seventeen years old. My father has been looking for a husband for me for the last year but he has not been looking far enough afield." She sat up. "I did suggest you as a candidate, Highness. My blood is certainly n.o.ble, though not, of course, royal. But my father says that you will have to marry royalty first, and think about n.o.bility in a Second Wife." Her face lit up. "So be quick, Prince Hori, and marry some boring blue-blood so that you may then turn your attention to me. Or better still, I will be the first candidate for your harem. Take me as your concubine. You can always marry me later."

Hori burst into his first spontaneous laughter for many weeks, and as he roared helplessly, the tears trickling down his cheeks, making rivulets in the grime, he felt a tiny part of the blackness around his heart crumble away. Nefertkhay was looking decidedly nettled.

"My dear girl!" he gasped. "Does anyone know when you are being serious? I a.s.sure you that when I am ready to marry, yours will be the second name put forward to my father."

"The second?"