Scroll Of Saqqara Part 6

He was tempted to laugh at her description of him, her a.s.sessment of the situation. All girls saw their fathers as benevolent G.o.ds around whom their households revolved in the rightness of Ma'at, as beings of purity and awesome wisdom. There was a little of that att.i.tude in Sheritra's view of him. But her fear was of something else, something a mature woman might sense, the threat of an overwhelming sandstorm that might scour away the fairness, the kindness, and release the lurking abandon she suspected lay beneath. Well, is there such a recklessness hidden within me, he wondered while he smiled at her gently, unknown even to myself? He had no answer, and did not know what "being in love" was like.

"She is a mystery, that's all," he replied after a moment. "Like scrolls in tombs or inscriptions waiting to be deciphered. When I have deciphered her and found her to be a disappointment, as so many of the ancient inscriptions are, I will be at peace. So you see, Sheritra, there is nothing to fret about."

She grinned at him, her solemn mood gone. "I had not looked at it in that way before," she said. "Good. In that case, have your adventure, Father, and tell me how it progresses. I must confess to being just a little intrigued myself." Picking up the comb, she gathered her towel around her and rose. "A new snake has taken to slithering in the back door," she went on, "and I am trying to make it welcome. Our usual resident is coiled up in a cool corner of the reception hall but I must lure the other from whatever garden rock he is sheltering under. A lot of house snakes bring good luck, don't they?"

He agreed and watched her amble away across the garden, her thin legs like a crane's, her shoulders hunched. Bakmut followed, and the garden was empty once more.

Khaemwaset got up, plunged his head under the fountain's steady coldness and took a tour around the house, greeting the servants he met, but he was not able either to take his belated excursion on the river or go into his quarters. Returning to his spot on the gra.s.s he sat numbly, his head eventually buzzing with the need for sleep, feeling jaded with self-disgust.

At last, as the sun westered and the light in the garden began to soften, Ib came to him The man was grubby and tired. He bowed perfunctorily, his mouth rimmed in grey dust, his nostrils edged in sand that clung to his sweat. Khaemwaset bade him sit, and Ib sank thankfully to the gra.s.s. "You had better not let Nubnofret see you in that state," Khaemwaset said. "What news do you have?"

Ib shook his head, and Khaemwaset's heart sank. "Very little, Prince," the Steward admitted. "Thirty of us have been combing the streets and public places of the city all afternoon. Many people have seen this woman, but of those that have seen her, none has spoken with her." He eased off his wilted kilt and used it to rub his face. "And no one has any idea where she lives."

Khaemwaset pondered for a moment. "Thank you, Ib," he said at last. "Take whatever time you need to wash yourself, then organize the thirty into groups of five each. Write a watch for them of four hours each, rotating, and tomorrow they can begin again. One of them will eventually hear or see something." He felt Ib's disapproval and sent him into the house, but he himself sat on. I have wasted almost a whole day, he thought dismally. I have sat here like one of the insane, and what other response from Ib did I expect? Yes, Prince, we have found her, she is waiting for you in the reception hall? Khaemwaset hauled himself to his feet and stalked after Ib. The Steward was nowhere to be seen and Khaemwaset summoned Kasa, spent a delicious half hour standing in the bath house while his servant scrubbed him down and doused him with lotus water, then, freshly dressed, he went in search of his wife.

He found her in her quarters with her cosmetician, having her makeup renewed after the sleep. She was obviously pleased and not a little surprised to see him being admitted, and she swung round on her stool. Kohl glistened around her magnificent eyes. The lids had been swept with green paint and her lips freshly hennaed. She was wearing a loose cloak, open down the front and bunched loosely on her knees, and he was struck as he had not been in years by her luscious curves. "This is an odd time for you to be seeking me out!" she exclaimed, smiling. "Is something wrong, Khaemwaset?" He went to perch on the edge of her disordered couch. "Nothing at all," he said. "Are you busy now, Nubnofret? Would you like to take a turn in the barge before dinner just as far as Peru-nefer, and sit on the deck? We could watch the sun set and play a little sennet?"

"I really shouldn't," she said hesitantly. "Mice have got into one of the granaries in the rear courtyard and spoiled the grain, and we will be short of bread. Our farm steward is coming shortly to take my order for more grain from the big granary, and I must supervise the laying of gazelles' dung to repulse the mice." She was making her excuses with regret, Khaemwaset saw.

"What do we have a kitchen steward for?" he objected. "Let him oversee the matter. You have trained them all well, Nubnofret. Let go for once."

She thought. Then, "You are right," she agreed. "Give me a little time to dress, my dear, and I will join you at the watersteps."

He did not really want to go on the river with her. He wanted to find an isolated, private spot and stand there, kneel there, lie there, until the moment when Ib came to him to say that the woman had been run to ground. But he knew the dangerous irrationality of that urge and fought it off determinedly. The river would be beautiful as Ra descended into the mouth of Nut, and it would make Nubnofret happy. The thought of making Nubnofret happy brought to him an engulfing guilt and he smiled, nodded and left her apartment quickly.

In the weeks that followed, Khaemwaset went through the motions of his duty with grim and iron determination, while his servants scoured the streets of Memphis. Khaemwaset forced himself to inspect the as yet barely begun excavations in the desert for the Apis mortuaries, and see to the dredging of several ca.n.a.ls on his agricultural estate. No news of Pharaoh's labyrinthine marriage negotiations with the Khatti came from the Delta, and Khaemwaset was relieved. The last thing he wanted was to answer a summons to attend his father in Pi-Ramses when all his inward attention was fixed on the reports of his soldiers each evening.

His sleep was troubled. He dreamed of high winds that whipped the surface of the desert into a howling maelstrom of sand, of the Nile in a flood that spilled over Egypt and kept on pooling, lapping, eating inexorably mile after mile of the cooking fires in his own kitchens that spread and grew until they towered, hungry and angry, over the whole city, lighting it with an ominous orange glow.

When the time came for the casting of his and the family's horoscopes for the coming month, he performed the task fearfully, with more than his usual meticulous attention to every detail. The prognosis for himself was very bad. According to this, he thought as he wrote the results at his desk, I should take to my couch and not stir until the month of Hathor is over. I do not see death here, or physical accident, merely bad luck. Merely. He chuckled without a trace of humour. Nubnofret's signs for the month were much as they always were-no more than slight tremors in an even flow that seldom changed-and Hori's, always so strongly fortunate, showed a mild dip in the number of days. Sheritra's horoscope was almost as bad as Khaemwaset's own.

When he had finished the work, which had taken him a whole day, he pushed it hastily into a drawer and sat back with a kind of despair. I can send Sheritra to Sunero's house at Ninsu if she would go, he thought. Nubnofret and I did discuss the possibility. But would that be pushing her into the place where her luck will be worse, or will keeping her at home precipitate the disasters that I see? There are no answers. We have lived through illness, dynastic deaths, royal intrigues, he thought again as he rose and left his office. All showed beforehand as unlucky days. The only surprises were the occurrences themselves. We will weather this month as we weather everything. But he knew, as he wandered down the pa.s.sage and out into the fading daylight, that his confidence was spurious. Something alien was in the air, and he acknowledged it with great mistrust.

He was curiously reluctant to visit the tomb at Saqqara. Penbuy and his other scribes and artists were still at work there, and Hori spent several hours overseeing their efforts every day, but Khaemwaset stayed away. He wanted it closed and sealed. He wanted to give the scroll that he had cut so avidly from the bandaged fingers of the corpse to Penbuy to be copied so that the original might be returned, but so great was his distaste for it that he let it lie where the scribe had locked it away. Eventually, he knew, he must either continue the work of deciphering the enigmatic thing or put it back where it had come from, but he did not need to decide anything just yet. Daily, Hori laid before him the intricate, riotous scenes and hieroglyphs faithfully reproduced from the tomb's plastered walls, eager to discuss them with his father, but Khaemwaset found excuses to simply disregard them. "They are beautiful but not particularly informative," he told his son. "We can go over them once the tomb is closed but at the moment my attention is taken up with the Apis bulls." It was a lie, and Hori knew it. Looking at his son perched on the edge of the desk, sandalled foot swinging, he had been going to say, "Leave me alone, Hori," for Ib had come to him not an hour before with yet another shake of the head, but he restrained himself. "Just get Penbuy to file it away and I will find a few idle moments within the next day or so to go over it." Hori, shooting him a keen glance, slid off the desk and went away.

Khaemwaset sat on blindly, staring into nothing. When did all this begin? he was thinking, but he was not even sure what "this" was. Slowly, he mentally girded himself for another family dinner, another evening in the cool of the garden or listening to Nubnofret's not unpleasant observations, then blessed unconsciousness followed by yet another long, hot series of hours that he must fill or go mad. An obsession. Yes, it was nearly that. Then let the moment of meeting come, let it shatter me with furious disappointment, and then, O please Thoth, please Ptah, please Hathor, G.o.ddess of beauty, let my life return to its former sane state!

One week into the month of Hathor, Khaemwaset began to give up hope of tracing the woman. Reluctantly, he called in his soldiers. To his relief, he found that the moment of his admission of failure brought with it the first intimations of peace, and his mind began to calm. He returned to his studies, his few select patients, and his duties with the beginnings of an honest interest. His horoscope still made him anxious but he decided that he had been in such a restless condition that he had not done the casting properly.

On the third day of the second week of Hathor he set out to confer with Si-Montu regarding the promised grape harvest in the royal vineyards his brother oversaw on the outskirts of Memphis. Pharaoh had sent a request for figures on the expected yield and Si-Montu had in turn sent a message to Khaemwaset, worried about the appearance of blight on some of the vines but more than happy to have an excuse to while away a hot afternoon drinking beer and talking about nothing in particular. Khaemwaset had welcomed the invitation and had set off in his barge with Kasa, Amek and two bodyguards to have himself rowed beyond the northern limits of the city to where his father's vines luxuriated, tended like spoiled children behind their high, sheltering walls Khaemwaset sat on the deck under the small awning, enjoying the morning breeze that would turn in a very few hours to the scorching breath of a Ra growing in power and intensity towards high summer. The riverbank as he travelled north and away from Memphis's industry and markets was carefully cultivated. One n.o.ble's estate followed another, one set of clean white watersteps with tethered barges and skiffs giving way to lawn, shrubs, trees, a wall and then another tier of water-lapped steps The river road ran behind these private enclosures, encircled the Northof-the-Walls suburb, and returned to meander beside the Nile just before it crossed the northernmost ca.n.a.l. Ramses' vineyards, surrounding Si-Montu's inviting home, grew beyond the ca.n.a.l and were fed by irrigation ca.n.a.ls bridged by the road.

Khaemwaset watched the last well-groomed estate drift by, a tangle of river growth follow, and the road appear again, choked as ever with laden donkeys, barefooted peasants and litters borne by dusty slaves. He did not mind the return of their babble. Today he felt peaceful and optimistic. The wet-scented air cooled the sweat from his brow under the black-and-white-striped linen helmet he wore. The Nile was a glittering blue, slapping gently and rhythmically against his craft. His captain called the beat to the rowers, his sing-song voice seeming to blend with the noise from the bank, the shrieking of the birds that dipped over Khaemwaset's head in search of flung food and the pad-pad of Kasa's tread as he came from the cabin to proffer cool, mint-flavoured water and dried dates. Amek stood in the prow, his eyes, as ever, slowly circling the bank, the other craft slicing the water, the fellahin, working the shadufs that poured wet life onto the fields of the farther bank.

Khaemwaset had just thanked Kasa and was raising the gold cup to his mouth when his gaze caught a flash of brilliant scarlet among the dun confusion of animals and bodies on the road. His hand froze. His mouth went dry. Then a rage such as he had never known filled him, galvanizing his limbs and flooding his lungs. She was threading her way through the crowd with the easy grace he had come to know so well, had seen so tantalizingly often in his cursed imagination, a white ribbon encircling her forehead and fluttering down her straight back, the sun glinting on the simple circle of silver around her throat and playing against the silver bracelets rubbing loosely from wrist to forearm. As he came to his feet and stared, that horrendous anger pulsing through him, he saw her raise one languid hand to brush a strand of wind-teased black hair away from her cheek. Her palm was hennaed bright orange. You b.i.t.c.h, he thought, trembling, the weeks of misery and restless compulsion churning in his mind, Ib's face each frustrating evening, Sheritra's silences, Hori's disappointment, even his servants' exhaustion, known but not seen, all jumbled together to form this towering urge to violence. b.i.t.c.h, b.i.t.c.h, oh b.i.t.c.h! "Captain!" he shouted. "Steer for the bank immediately! Amek!" The cup had fallen from his grasp and he was vaguely aware of Kasa bending to retrieve it as Amek strode across the deck. "As soon as the boat hits the bank I want you to stop that woman." He pointed, and Amek's eyes followed his shaking arm. The man nodded. She was coming towards them along the road, in the direction of the city, and they had ample time to cut her off. This time, Khaemwaset thought fiercely, teeth clenched, this time you will not escape me. "When you have stopped her, ask her her price."

Amek's black eyebrows rose. "Her price, Prince?"

"Yes, her price. I want a night with her. I want to know how much she charges."

The captain of his bodyguard bowed and without further ado kicked off his sandals, went to the side, and prepared to jump onto the muddy bank the moment the barge struck. Khaemwaset stepped back under the awning, scarcely aware of what he had said. The shaking was abating but the anger was still there, a steady coal heating his blood and making his fingers curl into fists.

The barge b.u.mped the bank, and even before it ceased to quiver Amek was over the side, knee deep in mud and splashed to the chin. The woman was almost level with him, unknowing, unseeing. Hurry, Khaemwaset thought. Tensely, he watched his man pull his tough soldier's legs from the mire one after the other, grasp the straggling river growth, and haul himself up, staggering then sprinting onto the road. Now Khaemwaset's chaotic mind called. Now, Amek! Amek ruthlessly pushed the crowd aside and a second before the woman would have pa.s.sed, spread his feet apart, drew his short sword and brought her to a halt.

She stopped slowly, one knee flexed under the tight sheath that was the hue of some exotic bird, her hands still loose, and Khaemwaset, his anger becoming swamped in anxiety, found time to admire her seemingly unshakeable aplomb. He saw Amek speak, his sword held against his mud-spattered leg, and expected the woman to glance towards the barge when the request was made, but she did not so much as move that proud head. Her lips parted. She spoke briefly and made as if to step aside, but Amek once more barred her way, speaking quickly. This time her chin came up and her mouth moved rapidly, forcefully. Amek leaned forward. So did she. They glared at one another. Then, abruptly, Amek sheathed his sword and the woman eased into the flow of travellers pa.s.sing Khaemwaset and the barge, pa.s.sing out of sight with an infuriating serenity. Khaemwaset found that he could not swallow. Indeed, he could hardly breathe.

The barge captain had run out a ramp and Khaemwaset, hands still curled tightly in upon themselves, watched Amek come striding up it, across the deck and in under the shade of the awning. He bowed. Khaemwaset fought for air, for his voice, and found both.

"Well?" he croaked.

Amek grimaced. Drying mud was beginning to flake from his legs and he wiped at a streak of it on his cheek. "I made the request," he said. "I put the question with great tact, Highness."

"Of course you did!" Khaemwaset snapped impatiently. "I know you, Amek. What did she say?"

The man looked uncomfortable and his eyes slid away from Khaemwaset's. "She said, 'Tell this presumptuous man, your master, that I am a n.o.blewoman and no mean person. I am not for sale.'"

Khaemwaset's mouth suddenly filled with saliva. "You pressed her. I saw it!"

"Yes, Prince, I pressed her." Amek shook his head. "She simply repeated, 'I am a n.o.blewoman and no mean person. Tell that to your rude and arrogant master.'"

Rude and Arrogant. Khaemwaset heard a string of curses go reeling through his head. "Did you at least try to find out where she lives?"

Amek nodded. "I told her that my master is a very rich and powerful man who has been seeking her for a long time. I thought that she would be complimented and thus soften her stance. But my words made no difference at all, in fact she smiled rather coldly into my face. 'Gold cannot buy me and power cannot frighten me,' she said. I did not want to exceed my instructions and arrest her, Highness. I had to let her pa.s.s."

Khaemwaset's fist came up and caught Amek on the side of the jaw. Amek, unprepared, went down and lay for a moment, stunned. Then his head lolled and he fingered his mouth. Arrest her! Khaemwaset's mind was yelling. Arrest her, beat her, you should have dragged her on board and thrown her at my feet! Then all at once reality collapsed upon him and he knelt, aghast at what he had done. "Amek!" he said urgently, helping his guard to his feet. "I am sorry. I did not mean to strike you.... By Amun I did not ..."

Amek managed a weak smile. "I have seen her face," he said. "I do not blame my prince for striking me. She is very beautiful. I am the one who must apologize. I have failed my prince."

Yes, you have seen her face, Khaemwaset thought, sick to the heart. You have felt her breath on you, you have noted the flicker of her eyelids, the rise of her breast as she drew breath to answer you with such scorn. I want to hit you again. "No," he said shortly. "No, you have not." And with that he swung abruptly on his heel and disappeared into the cabin, pulling the curtains closed savagely behind him.

He had not given the barge captain further instructions. He sat in the blue-tinged dimness of the cabin with his knees drawn up, eyes jammed shut, rocking to and fro in humiliation and the anger that had become directed now at himself. I have never struck a member of my staff before, he thought in agony. I have reprimanded, I have shouted. I have come close to losing my temper on many occasions, but never, never have I hit out. And at Amek! A man of silent loyalty, great efficiency, a man who has shielded and protected me for many years. He bit his lip, feeling the barge slip off the mud of the bank with a slight jerk, hearing the captain shout an order. It will do no good to apologize again, Khaemwaset's thoughts ran on. The harm has been done. I can never take back that moment of sheer insane fury. And at what? He leaned back against the cabin cedar-fragrant wall and opened his eyes. A woman. A woman who got away from me. Amek did his duty then refused to break a law of Ma'at by compelling her into my presence.

He heard Kasa's hesitant knock on the outer wall and pulled himself together. "Come!" The man opened the curtain, entered and bowed. "In the absence of any command to the contrary, the captain is proceeding to my lord Si-Montu's watersteps, Highness," he said. "Do you desire anything?"

Khaemwaset suppressed an urge to burst into hysterical laughter. I desire that infuriating mirage of a woman. I desire to wipe out the last hour. I desire the balm of soul I used to take entirely for granted. "Bring me water," he said, "and the dates." He had been about to order the barge to return home but suddenly the idea of pouring everything into the ears of his favourite brother was irresistible. He drank the water Kasa brought, nibbled on a few dates and brooded.

Ben-Anath greeted her brother-in-law with her usual affectionate embrace and installed him in the garden under the shade of a giant spreading sycamore, After a.s.signing him a servant and apologizing for having to leave him temporarily unentertained, she bowed and went back into the house. Khaemwaset was relieved. Ben-Anath was an easy woman to be with, but in his present state of mind he did not think he could make an effort at polite family conversation. He asked the servant for beer and when it came he forced himself to sip it carefully. He wanted to gulp it down and ask for more. He wanted to get drunk on this hot, completely frustrating afternoon. But the need to talk to Si-Montu was greater.

Presently his brother came striding across the gra.s.s. He had obviously been at work in the vineyards and had taken a moment to wash and change his kilt, but other than the strip of white linen around his thick waist he was naked. His brown body was chunky and formidable, not from drawing the bow, wrestling, or chariot-driving, but from sweating beside his labourers; his presence gave Khaemwaset great comfort. Rising, he kissed Si-Montu's damp, bearded cheek. Si-Montu waved him back to the cushions strewn on the reed mat and sank down beside him. "What?" he expostulated. "Drinking beer in the middle of the finest vineyard in Egypt? The grapes will wither and die from chagrin, Khaemwaset. How are you? Bring a jar of the five-year vintage!" he shouted at the servant, then he fixed Khaemwaset with a bright, altogether too piercing eye. Si-Montu might look like a peasant and roar like a sailor, Khaemwaset reflected, but he is neither. He is a royally educated prince of the land, and too many people forget it.

"Si-Montu, if I start drinking wine today I will not stop," he confessed, "and as to how I am, let us deal with Pharaoh's business first and then I want to talk to you."

Si-Montu nodded equably. Khaemwaset had always been grateful for his brother's ready acceptance, his reluctance to pry. "Very well," Si-Montu smiled. "Father's request can be dealt with very quickly. The grape harvest will be enormous this year if I can control the beginnings of the blight. The fruit is coming nicely, very tiny but huge bunches. However, the leaves and some of the vines themselves are turning black. You can take a look, physician, and perhaps prescribe something I might try. Ah!" He waved at the servant who had appeared with a tray, a dusty sealed jar, and two alabaster cups. The man held the jar so that Si-Montu could inspect the seal, then broke it and poured the wine. Khaemwaset watched the rich, dark liquid, suddenly suffused with sunlight, stream into the cups. Si-Montu held up an admonitory finger. "One cup now, then you will inspect the vines and send Father the bill for your services, then another cup or the whole jar if you choose." He grinned, and Khaemwaset, in spite of himself, smiled back. "If you wish I will have the wine removed after you have drunk two cups." He handed Khaemwaset the wine and raised his own cup. "To Egypt! Long may she rule the only areas of the world that really matter!"

Khaemwaset drank to the toast. The wine slipped down his throat, tart-sweet and cool. A great vintage indeed. Before long it began to spread its aristocratic warmth through his veins, and for the first time that day he relaxed, talking with his brother of their families, their enemies, foreign affairs-of which Si-Montu knew little and cared less-and then various agricultural holdings.

Si-Montu finally rose, and together they went carefully through the vineyard. Khaemwaset noticed, with wry humour, that his brother had not bothered to order them a canopy. They stood together in the stunning heat fingering leaves and discussing the problem. Khaemwaset made some suggestions. Si-Montu concurred. No one knew more about the care and cultivation of grapes than he, but still, Khaemwaset was able to help.

Then they ambled back to the garden and the second cup of wine. "So," Si-Montu invited as soon as they were settled. "You look as though you have just fought your way back from the Underworld and slain the Great Serpent to do it. What's wrong?"

Khaemwaset told him everything Once open the wound flowed copiously, and the sun had begun to set before he at last fell silent. Si-Montu had watched him the whole time, not commenting, grunting now and then, and when Khaemwaset's voice ceased he drained his cup and refilled for both of them, then fell to tugging absently at his beard.

Ben-Anath appeared and raised her shoulders. Si-Montu held up two fingers at her and she smiled, nodded and faded back into the still thin but lengthening shadow cast by the house. Khaemwaset envied the pair of them their perfect communication.

"When I fell in love with Ben-Anath," Si-Montu offered, "the whole court tried to persuade me that I had gone mad. Father talked at me by the hour. Mother threw every luscious woman she could cajole or threaten at my feet. I was finally barred from the succession. But did I care?" He laughed. "Not a bit. Not for a moment. All my energies went into wooing my woman." Khaemwaset smiled inwardly. Si-Montu's energy was considerable and, concentrated on one thing, it was well-nigh irresistible. "She was only the daughter of a Syrian ship's captain, but G.o.ds she was haughty! Then she was worried that I would resent her because my decision to marry her had stripped me of almost every royal privilege. But I have never regretted that decision." He fixed his brother with a suddenly sober glare. "Do you love Nubnofret like that?"

"You know that I do not," Khaemwaset answered truthfully. "I love her as far as I am capable of loving ..."

"As far as you see love," Si-Montu broke in, "which is only as far as you deem it safe. And who is to say which of us is happier or wiser? Look at it sensibly, Khaemwaset. You have a loving wife and good family You are feverishly desperate, probably for the first time in your life, to sleep with a woman you keep seeing on the streets. Well what of it?" Khaemwaset held his cup to be refilled and Si-Montu hesitated. Khaemwaset nodded curtly. Si-Montu sighed and filled it to the brim. Then he went on speaking. "Many men have suffered through the same affliction. It is called l.u.s.t, my bookish brother. l.u.s.t. That is all. You agonize over it as though it represents the destruction of everything, including yourself, but of course it does not. You have two choices." He wiped a few droplets of the blood-red liquid from his moustache, his blunt, calloused fingers moving thoughtfully. "You can either keep searching for her-and you know, don't you, that you will eventually find her?-and then keep offering a variety of good things to her until you find the key to unlock her virtue, at which time you take your fill of her. Or you can push her away each time she sneaks into your vitals and in six months you will be wondering what all the fuss was about." He c.o.c.ked an eye at Khaemwaset. "Of course, you might also be wondering what you missed, but that, dear brother, is not in your nature."

It was not at one time in my nature, Khaemwaset thought, but I am changing. I do not like it and perhaps I cannot make you understand it, Si-Montu, but I don't think that I can control it any longer. "What would you do?" he asked aloud.

"I would tell Ben-Anath," Si-Montu answered promptly, "and she would say, 'Scurvy son of a dessicated pharaoh, if I am not woman enough for you go and take your fill of the street. When you come crawling back to admit to me that there is no woman like me in the world, you can sleep in the kitchens among the little female slaves who by then you will be accustomed to calling your equals.' But then," Si-Montu finished simply, "I still desire no other woman the way I desire my wife. Do you want my advice?" Khaemwaset nodded mutely. "Stop chasing this phantom, start giving Nubnofret her due as a beauty and a most accommodating wife, and close that tomb."

Khaemwaset blinked. Even through the gentle wine fumes floating pleasingly in his brain he was conscious of shock. Si-Montu was staring at him steadily. "The tomb? I have told you my anxieties over it but it has nothing to do with my present dilemma."

"No?" Si-Montu said. "I am not so sure You treat the dead very arrogantly in your polite but nonetheless ruthless quest for knowledge, Khaemwaset. You fancy yourself safe because you restore, you make offerings, but did it never occur to you that the dead might merely wish to be left alone, or that what you take is not in fact equal to what you imagine that you give? I am not easy about this latest endeavour of yours. Close it."

Khaemwaset felt dread clutch at his heart. Si-Montu, with his usual facility for unconsciously striking the nail on the head, had voiced Khaemwaset's own fears with a lucidity he himself had lacked. "I do not believe in any connection," he replied, forming the words carefully because he was getting drunk, and because they were a lie.

Si-Montu shrugged. "You are probably right," he agreed indifferently. "Now it is time for dinner. You will stay, of course? I have no boring guests tonight, unlike the many dinners at your house I am forced to yawn through!"

They got up and walked in the dusk towards the house. Khaemwaset felt a great deal better, but there was a seed of mutiny in him. Si-Montu had no right to accuse him of a kind of rape-Si-Montu, who knew nothing of history or the preciousness of rare things, and who had never held a priestly office. He, Khaemwaset, did not rape. As for the woman ... He entered his brother's dining room to BenAnath's smile and took his place before the little table prepared for him. As for the woman, he would find her, even as his brother had said. l.u.s.t or not, she conjured in him a feeling he had never known before and he was determined to explore it. He had no intention of telling Nubnofret. She would not understand. And the G.o.ds? He succ.u.mbed at last to the inviting effects of the wine. If the G.o.ds had wished to punish him or indicate that his studies were insulting to them, they would have let him know a long time ago. For was he not their friend? He lifted his cup for more wine and fell upon the first course of the excellent dinner Ben-Anath's cooks had provided. A harpist began to play. Khaemwaset was enjoying the evening, enjoying himself fully, for the first time in months.

He woke late the following morning in Si-Montu's guest room with little memory of the night before. The servant his brother sent to see to his bathing and dressing and to bring him food told him that a message had gone to his wife during dinner and his own men had been cared for.

Khaemwaset sought out Ben-Anath, thanked her for her hospitality, gathered his staff, and cast off for home. Si-Montu was already out in the vineyards. I cannot remember the last time I drank so freely, Khaemwaset thought as he sat leaning against the outer wall of the barge's cabin, but the wine Si-Montu produced was indeed fine. I have no headache, only a feeling of lightness and a slight loss of balance.

But then he did remember. He had drunk too much, though not nearly as much as he had at his father's feast in the palace when the old man with the scroll had accosted him. That was a curious affair. His thoughts ran on as the oars of his rowers dipped and pulled against the current, lifting dribbles of glittering river water into the bright sunlight. I lost the scroll. A pity. I feel guilty about such carelessness. Well, the matter is over, closed. I must not drink to excess again.

All the time he was thinking his eyes were on the bank, and they remained there until the river road veered sharply west and the n.o.bles' estates began. But today no flutter of scarlet linen increased his heartbeat and Amek stood stolidly in his customary position at the prow. Khaemwaset did not know whether he longed to see her or was afraid that she might indeed magically appear and cause him once again to lose all civilized volition. But his watersteps hove into view, one of Amek's guards on duty by the mooring pole, and Khaemwaset had been spared another encounter.

Disembarking, he went immediately to find his wife. Nubnofret was in her quarters dictating a letter to one of her friends at court. She looked up and smiled as Khaemwaset was admitted.

"Was it good to get drunk, dear brother?" she asked. "You look well rested."

"Yes it was," Khaemwaset admitted, acknowledging the inclined head of Nubnofret's scribe with a nod. "I did not intend to stay away, Nubnofret. I apologize if I have inconvenienced the household."

"You have not." She rose and came to him, running a sharp but gentle nail down his cheek and kissing him on his naked chest. Her mouth was soft, and Khaemwaset sensed no reproach in her att.i.tude or in her warm gaze. By now the story of his astonishing loss of control in striking Amek would be spreading among the servants, who loved to gossip, but to Nubnofret's credit did not dare carry family business to the staff of other households. He wondered for the first time whether Nubnofret permitted Wernuro to whisper such gossip to her, and was conscious of despair. I cannot expect my exploits to remain a secret from the rest of the family, he thought while he smiled back at his wife. Oh how wearing, how mind-consuming is deceit!

"Nothing of note has come from the Delta, or so Penbuy tells me," Nubnofret was saying "and there were no unexpected guests. Please don't forget, though, that May will be staying here within the week on his way back from the a.s.suan quarries. Excuse me now, Khaemwaset. I must finish my dictation. I have a lot to do today." Her l.u.s.trous black eyes told him that she would hurry through her ch.o.r.es and be at his disposal as soon as possible. He had in fact forgotten about his father's Chief Architect, and his heart sank. At one time he would have welcomed such a distinguished and cultivated guest, but now he wanted them all, his father, his brothers, his governmental contacts, to disappear so that he could be alone and concentrate on ... He turned abruptly. "Let me know when you are free," he replied. "We might take a swim later."

Escaping to his office, he saw that Hori had placed yesterday's work in a neat pile on the desk. Khaemwaset went to it briskly. Enough nonsense, he thought. The sooner I study these the sooner the tomb can be closed. I have wasted too much time and effort that should have been directed towards the work of my own architects. But before he sat he summoned Ib. "Revive the search parties," he ordered. "I don't care what it takes, but I want that woman."

6.

Come, songs and music are before thee.

Set behind thee all thy cares; think only upon gladness until the day cometh whereon thou shalt go down to the land that loveth silence.

THE MONTH OF HATHOR THE MONTH OF HATHOR slid away and Khoiak began. May proved to be an entertaining guest, as usual, and left gifts for them all before gliding away in his gilded, flower-bedecked barge. Khaemwaset cast the horoscopes for the new month and found no changes from the month before. This time, however, he was oddly detached from the task and viewed the outcome with something close to indifference. What would be would be. Egyptians were on the whole a cheerful and optimistic people, he knew, but they did not disregard the power of destiny's fingers sometimes astir in their lives, and Khaemwaset, as time went on, felt himself more and more in the grip of fate's implacable hand. There was almost a perverse comfort in the awareness. He saw his patients and performed his other duties, receiving the continually negative reports of Ib and Amek with equanimity. Tomorrow, next month, next year, it did not matter. He knew she would come and he waited for her. slid away and Khoiak began. May proved to be an entertaining guest, as usual, and left gifts for them all before gliding away in his gilded, flower-bedecked barge. Khaemwaset cast the horoscopes for the new month and found no changes from the month before. This time, however, he was oddly detached from the task and viewed the outcome with something close to indifference. What would be would be. Egyptians were on the whole a cheerful and optimistic people, he knew, but they did not disregard the power of destiny's fingers sometimes astir in their lives, and Khaemwaset, as time went on, felt himself more and more in the grip of fate's implacable hand. There was almost a perverse comfort in the awareness. He saw his patients and performed his other duties, receiving the continually negative reports of Ib and Amek with equanimity. Tomorrow, next month, next year, it did not matter. He knew she would come and he waited for her.

Khoiak's days grew increasingly hotter and the crops stood high but still green in the little fields. Hori was spending most of his time, now, in the coolness of the tomb, its mysteries fretting him, and Sheritra swam, read and withdrew into her own world. Worship went on in the house, sometimes in the temples where the family prostrated together before Ptah or Ra or Neith. Khaemwaset knew that before long he would be summoned to the palace again, for amba.s.sador Huy must surely be on the point of returning to Egypt, but he put his father's annoying, amusing negotiations out of his mind. Summer was coming, a time of stultifying heat, endless hours when reality always seemed to acquire different dimensions and the eternity of burning air and white light seemed to fuse mortal Egypt with the immortal paradise of Osiris.

One day, Khaemwaset had just finished a period of dictation with Penbuy, some notes he had been making on the reign of Osiris Thothmes the First, when Ib entered the office and bowed. The noon meal was over and the hour for the afternoon rest was fast approaching. Khaemwaset glanced at his steward, sensing a further duty to be performed, and was annoyed. He wanted to lie on his couch under the soft swish of the fans and doze. "Well?" he snapped. Penbuy was gathering up his pens, ink and scrolls, his own eyes heavy with the need for sleep at this warm hour. On Khaemwaset's signal he left the room.

"Your pardon Prince," Ib said, "but there is a young man here who requests a moment of your time. His mother needs medical attention."

"What young man?" Khaemwaset asked testily. "The city is full of good physicians. Did you tell him that I only treat the n.o.bility or cases that might be of particular interest to me?"

"I did," Ib rejoined. "He says that his mother is indeed a n.o.blewoman, and no mean person. He would be grateful for your personal consultation, and his uncle will pay you well for your trouble."

Khaemwaset started, then recovered. "I am not interested in more gold," he grumbled. "I already have plenty. What is wrong with this woman?"

"Apparently she somehow drove a large wooden splinter into her foot. The splinter has been removed but the foot is festering."

"Then I do not need to go myself. I can prescribe at once." He was relieved. "Send in the boy."

Ib retired, and Khaemwaset waited. Presently a shadow fell across the open doorway. Khaemwaset looked up. A young man about Hori's age was bowing profoundly from the waist, arms outstretched. Khaemwaset noted immediately that his hands were finely tapered and well cared for, the palms hennaed, the nails clipped, the skin soft. He was shod in good leather sandals with gold thongs and his kilt linen was certainly of the tenth or eleventh grade of transparency. He rose and stood tall, his gaze meeting Khaemwaset's, neither subservient nor proud, but merely expectant. He wore his own hair, Khaemwaset noted. It fell black and completely straight to his square shoulders. A thick band of gold encircled his neck and one large ankh symbol of life hung from it on his slim but beautifully muscled chest. In comparison to his hair, his eyes seemed grey. They followed Khaemwaset's a.s.sessment closely, but with detachment. There was something almost familiar about him, in his straight stance perhaps, or the way his mouth curved naturally upward at the corners. Khaemwaset decided that he was the most perfect specimen of young manhood apart from Hori that he had ever seen.

"What is your name?" he asked.

The youth inclined his head. The black hair swung forward, gleaming dully. "I am Harmin," he answered, his voice as steady and cool as his eyes.

"My steward told me of your mother's complaint," Khaemwaset said. "He also told me that your family is a n.o.ble one. I thought I knew, at least by sight, every n.o.ble family in Egypt, but I have never seen you or heard of your name before. Why is that?"

The young man smiled. It was a winning, affable smile to which Khaemwaset was hard put not to respond. "My family's modest estates are at Koptos, just north of blessed Thebes," he said. "We are of an ancient lineage, tracing our line from the days of Prince Sekenenra, and though we are members of the minor n.o.bility and have never held high offices, we are nevertheless proud of our blood. It is pure. No foreign flow has commingled with it. During the days of revived trade with Punt, after the great Queen Hatshepsut rediscovered that land, my ancestor was steward of her caravans along the route from Koptos to the Eastern Sea."

Khaemwaset blinked. Few historians, let alone ordinary Egyptian citizens, knew anything of the fabled queen who was said to have ruled as a king and had built a mortuary temple of unsurpa.s.sed beauty on the west bank of Thebes. Those who had studied the site were inclined to ascribe it to the warrior pharaoh Thothmes the Third, but Khaemwaset had always disagreed. His interest was piqued. Nevertheless, he said, "I should have heard of you if you have lived in Memphis for any length of time."

Harmin's smile broadened. "My mother, my uncle and I took up residence here about two months ago. There is little to do in Koptos anymore, Highness, and we have a good steward to care for our small farm there."

Khaemwaset was still not satisfied, but to pry further would have breached good manners. He was, however, convinced of the young man's n.o.ble breeding. "I do not need to see your mother," he objected kindly. "I will prescribe for her though."

Harmin took one swift step forward. "Forgive me, Prince, but we have applied the per-baibait-bird with honey and that drew out the splinter, and then we dressed the wound with a poultice of human excrement crushed in sweet beer yeast, sefet oil and honey, but the infection increases."

"So you have consulted another physician?"

Harmin looked surprised. "Why no. My mother is well versed herself in remedies, but this time she is no longer able to treat herself. She would be more than honoured if you would examine her foot."

Perhaps I had better, Khaemwaset thought reluctantly. The poultice applied was a common one for open wounds but he put no faith in it himself. It often seemed to make the problem worse. Sighing inwardly he dismissed the youth. "I will come," he said. "Please wait in the outer hall."

Harmin did not thank him. He did not even look satisfied. He bowed again, turned on his heel and disappeared, his sandals shushing softly on the tiled floor, his stride slow and easy.