Beside it lay another scroll, the sight of which filled Khaemwaset with distaste and reminded him of the night of panic that had sent him hurrying to a spell of protection he himself had so soon negated. I cannot look at it now, he thought, his fingers tapping anxiously over the notes he had made then. Penbuy has gone to Koptos, and while he is away I must talk to Nubnofret. But what is the point of upsetting her before Penbuy returns with the results of his investigation? another voice objected. The last clause releases you if necessary, so take the document to Tbubui, obtain her seal, see what Penbuy discovers and then talk to Nubnofret. There is no hurry. Work on this mysterious piece of history you have been avoiding. Call in Sisenet, then scour your mind of it and put it behind you. Once Nubnofret has accepted the situation with Tbubui the future will be richer, lusher, more satisfying than you ever dreamed possible. Lay this scroll to rest first. Overcome your cowardice and begin now.
With a dragging reluctance he rolled up the contract, pushed it to one side and set the ancient writing and his notes in its place. Calling the servant who stood stolidly in the corner he asked for beer, recognized his own delaying tactic, and with a grimace began to work. Tomorrow I will visit Sheritra, give Tbubui the contract to study and invite Sisenet to assist me, he decided. It is time to return to reality. But the briskness of his decision did nothing to lift the cloud of insubstantiality that dogged him. He felt as though months ago he had somehow become detached from himself, that his being, his time, had been bifurcated and his other self, more heavy with blood and life, with sanity and substance, was even now living out his correct reality, while this shadowy self had been nudged onto a pathway that might or might not bring him back in the end to a reunion with that other self. The thought gave him a moment of sick dizziness, but it passed, and he bent with an unconscious moan to the riddle of the dead man's treasure.
He spent the following morning impatiently listening to his steward's report on the progress of his crops and the health of his animals. In two months the harvest would begin, and all prayed that the reaping might be accomplished without disease or blight developing on the grain. Khaemwaset's cattle were fat and healthy, his fields fully mature, tall and green.
After curtly thanking his managers, he read a message from the palace. His mother was very ill and her Chief Steward had taken it upon himself to inquire of Khaemwaset whether he could make the journey to the Delta to treat her. The polite, subtle request threw him into a fever. She knows she is dying, he thought furiously. She knows that I can do nothing more for her. It is her staff, her stupid cow-like retainers, who still believe that I can somehow magic her back to health. She has her husband to comfort her, and whatever faults great Pharaoh has, he loves her and does not neglect to visit her. Surely in dying she wants her husband, not a son she rarely sees, by her side? Tersely he dictated a letter to the steward telling him that he would come to Pi-Ramses at his earliest convenience, which would not be for some time, and that Pharaoh's physicians were as competent and reliable as he.
There was also a brief communication from Amunmose, Chief of Pharaoh's Harem in Memphis, complaining that the physician appointed by Khaemwaset himself to see to the medical needs of the women was incompetent and had been dismissed. Could the Mighty Prince suggest a replacement? Not now, Khaemwaset thought with nagging irritation. Tomorrow. I will see to it tomorrow.
On his way to Nubnofret's quarters he came upon Antef. The young man was scantily clad in nothing but a loincloth. A quiver of arrows was slung over his shoulder and his bow hung negligently from one slender hand. Khaemwaset brushed past him, then halted and turned.
"You go to archery practice, Antef?" Antef nodded. He looked unhappy and tired. "Will Hori join you?"
"No, Highness," Antef replied. "I have not seen the Prince today. He slept late and then hurried out." His eyes would not meet Khaemwaset's and Khaemwaset felt a wave of sympathy that answered the deep sadness in the pleasant boy.
"You have not seen much of my son lately, have you?" he said gently. Miserably Antef shook his head. "Can you tell me what ails him, Antef? Without betraying his confidence, of course."
"I would tell you if I knew, Highness," Antef blurted, "but Hori no longer confides in me. It is as though I have displeased him in some way, but by Set I cannot imagine how!"
"Neither can I," Khaemwaset said gently. "I am sorry, Antef. Please do not lose patience with him."
"I do not intend to, Highness." Antef smiled wanly. "I think he will talk to me eventually."
Khaemwaset nodded and passed on. He did not want to dwell on Hori's mysterious change of face, preferring to believe that his son's good sense would reassert itself without interference.
When Khaemwaset was announced, Nubnofret was standing in the middle of the bedchamber, hands on her hips, amid a welter of gowns and cloaks. Wernuro and two body servants were sorting through the brilliant piles of beaded gilded linens and a harried-looking scribe sat at his mistress's feet, pen working furiously. "Put that one aside," Nubnofret was saying. "It can be altered for Sheritra. And those two have worn patches on them. They had better be cut up. Such a pity," she smiled, turning for Khaemwaset's dutiful kiss. "They were my favourites. I am ordering new clothes, dear brother. The linen woven from last year's flax is particularly fine and I have requisitioned a good portion of it."
"So you will be busy all day?" Khaemwaset asked hopefully. She made a rueful grimace.
"Yes. The gown-maker is coming. Why do you want to know?"
"I am going to visit Sheritra," he said carefully, "and at the same time I will invite Sisenet to come and peruse the scroll. I thought you might like to see your daughter and spend some time with Tbubui."
In spite of the enforced steadiness of his voice she looked at him curiously. "Sheritra has only been gone for three days," she pointed out. "And you can just as easily send a herald to Sisenet. You have neglected patients, Khaemwaset, and although Penbuy is loyal to you and does not complain, I am aware of the official correspondence piling up on your desk. Such irresponsibility is not like you."
I am not answerable to you, he thought, annoyed. Sometimes you affect the tone of a mother with me and I hate it. "Such things are not your concern, Nubnofret," he rebuked her, with what he hoped was kindness. "Run the household and leave my business to me. I have been very tired of late and I see nothing wrong with an afternoon chatting to my daughter and her host."
Usually at this juncture she would back down. Her passion for control occasionally prompted her to encroach on Khaemwaset's sphere, but a gentle reprimand would have her laughing at herself and retiring. But this time she stood her ground. "It is not just a matter of one afternoon," she persisted. "For weeks now you have been withdrawn and short with everyone. I am surprised that you have not received one of Ramses' barbed letters of inquiry concerning Egypt's forgotten affairs." She was watching him with something very like wounded puzzlement in her eyes, and Khaemwaset wondered fleetingly if perhaps she was more astute than he had thought. He would have to talk to her sometime soon, but not today, not today! He hastened to placate her while the servants waited in their well-trained immobility.
"It is true that I have not given my duties the attention they deserve," he admitted, "but, Nubnofret, I am in need of a rest."
"Then let us go north for a week or two. Perhaps the change would restore you."
He laughed sharply "I hate Pi-Ramses," he said flatly "You know that."
She came close to him, picking her way delicately among the discarded clothes. "Something is seriously wrong, my husband," she said in a low voice, looking directly into his face, "and do not insult me by denying it. Please tell me what it is. I only want to help and support you."
Khaemwaset fought back an absurd desire to cry. He wanted to lower himself to her couch and pour it all into her understanding ears like a child. But he recognized the urge for what it was, a reverting to the state of an infant, and besides, there were the servants, and Nubnofret's task only just begun.
"You are right," he said at last, "and I will indeed tell you about it, but not now. Enjoy yourself this afternoon, Nubnofret."
She shrugged, dropped her gaze and turned back into the room, but as he reached the doorway she called, "I cannot find Penbuy. Send him to me later, Khaemwaset. The amount of linen must be measured exactly and paid for." Her own scribe could have done such a small task and they both knew it. She is either asserting her authority or letting me know she suspects that I have sent Penbuy away, Khaemwaset thought as he paced the passage, absently receiving the salute of his guards. Could it be that Nubnofret, my calm, firm Nubnofret, is losing command of herself? The idea of a wild scene between himself and his wife plunged him into gloom and he ordered out the staff of the barge with a sinking heart.
The bright, hot day and his pleasant errand soon restored his spirits and he disembarked, waited for his canopy to be unfolded and strode along the path to Tbubui's house with deep contentment The call of iridescent birds echoed in the palms and his feet sank satisfyingly into the light sand. He remembered the last time he had walked here, the dreamlike quality of the night and his encounter with Tbubui, and was tempted to burst into song. As he rounded the last, now dearly familiar corner he saw Sheritra standing in the shade cast by the front wall of the house, her arms full of white water-lilies that were dripping moisture down the front of her glistening sheath. She recognized him and took one step, but then she stood and waited, her face solemn. Odd, he thought. She usually runs to greet me. Then he realized with a pang that it had been some time since she had flung herself at him with abandon. He smiled as he came and embraced her. The damp lilies were cold against his belly. His servants bowed to her and withdrew under the trees, and she pulled away.
"Father, how lovely to see you!" she said, and there was no mistaking the pleasure in her voice, though Khaemwaset, glancing into her eyes, thought them strangely guarded. "How is everyone at home?"
"Much the same," he replied. "I took Hori's stitches out, and today your mother is reorganizing her tiring boxes or she would have come with me."
"Hmm," was her response. "Come into the house. Tbubui is beyond, in the kitchen compound, trying to teach a dish to her cook, and Sisenet is closeted in his own rooms as usual. Harmin is out on the desert, practising with his spear." They linked arms and moved towards the door. "I feel as though I have been away forever," she went on, and Khaemwaset squeezed her slim forearm.
"It seems that way to me, too," he said simply. We are awkward with each other, he thought dismally. In three days we have grown even farther apart. Bakmut was doing him homage from just inside the entrance hall, her coarse linen fluttering in the draught, and Khaemwaset saw with approval that one of his soldiers stood stiffly against the far wall where the rear passage ran.
"Sit down if you like," Sheritra offered, and clapping her hands she said brusquely to the black servant of the house who had appeared, "Bring wine and buttered bread. Tell your mistress that the Prince Khaemwaset is here."
"Are you happy here?" Khaemwaset asked cautiously. She grinned, but beneath the humour there was a faint strain.
"I am just beginning to get used to it," she replied. "So very, very quiet, and no guests so far, and hardly any music at dinner. But I am not shy here, Father. Only Sisenet still makes me a little uncomfortable and that is because I see him so much less than the others." She blushed and, relieved, Khaemwaset saw in the creeping flush and the momentarily working hands the Sheritra he knew. "Harmin and I spend the afternoons together, after the sleep. Tbubui goes into her chamber. Harmin, Bakmut, a guard and I take over the garden and stroll under the palms. I have twice been poled on the river but none of them will join me. In the evening we talk or Sisenet reads to us."
"And the mornings?" Khaemwaset asked as the rich red wine was placed to his hand together with a silver platter containing bread, butter, garlic and honey. The servant had been uncannily quiet. Khaemwaset had not even heard the rustle of starched linen.
"In the morning Tbubui and I keep each other company and talk of purely vain and silly feminine things." Sheritra laughed. "Can you imagine that, Father? Me, talking of vain and silly things?"
She is speaking too quickly, Khaemwaset thought as he raised his cup to his mouth. This also comes between us, her excitement or anxiety, I cannot tell which, and she will not tell me honestly what she is feeling. "I am sure it is doing you good," he replied. "There is nothing wrong with frivolity, my dear, particularly for you. You have always been too serious."
"Speak for yourself!" she laughed back. "Oh. Here comes Tbubui."
As royalty, Khaemwaset did not need to rise, but he did, reaching for Tbubui's hand as she swept towards him and bending to kiss her on the cheek. Immediately he realized that his gesture had been too familiar in front of Sheritra and he drew back and resumed his seat. Tbubui, cool and glittering in a semi-transparent white sheath fringed in silver tassels, sank in one practised motion to a large cushion opposite him. "I decided to come and see if my Little Sun was homesick yet," he began, "and also to have a word with your brother, Tbubui. But Sheritra is not in the least homesick; in fact she looks in the rudest of health. I am grateful."
He felt everything in him, the tight muscles of his belly, the tense attitude of his shoulders, the lineaments of his face, relax as he looked at her. Oh Tbubui, he said silently to the wide forehead across which a thin band of silver held back her thick hair, the black, kohled eyes fixed on him warmly, the graceful indolence of the arms resting languidly against her knees. The rise and fall of her barely glimpsed breasts was light and fast. She feels it also, he thought happily. I know she does.
"I am the one to be grateful," she answered, smiling. She had painted her lips with red henna and her mouth reminded Khaemwaset of the vast statue of the goddess Hathor that stood in the temple in the south district of Memphis. Hathor's faint, sensuous smite was also red, a glistening moist red ... "Sheritra is delightful company. She makes me feel like a girl again. I hope, however, that we do not bore her." She turned with affection towards the girl and Sheritra smiled back. Why, they behave like sisters, Khaemwaset thought, the tide of well-being coursing through him. They will not be enemies when Tbubui moves in.
"Bore me?" Sheritra expostulated. "Certainly not!"
"So you do not want to come home?" Khaemwaset teased her. "You are not pining for your mother's discipline?"
A shadow crossed Sheritra's flushed face, and Khaemwaset was aware of the disloyalty in his words. Is there something in this wine? he wondered. "Another excellent vintage," he commented hastily, holding up his cup, and Tbubui inclined her head.
"Thank you, Prince. We do not care for gaudy clothes or constant entertainment but we are fussy about our wine."
Khaemwaset had the uncomfortable impression that his daughter was included in the "we," and for a fleeting second it seemed as though she was not his at all but Tbubui's, as though by some unknown alchemy she had always been Tbubui's. He was saved from further comment by Harmin. The young man entered, handing his spear to the nearest servant and advancing into the hall. He was drenched in sweat and his hair, nostrils and calves were filthy with sand. Smiling affably he bowed to Khaemwaset, but his eyes were all for Sheritra. Better and better, Khaemwaset thought. "Greetings, Harmin," he said. "I hope the improving of your aim made the heat and dirt worthwhile."
Harmin raised his eyebrows and ran a hand through his sticky hair. "I think I am throwing straighter and farther," he said, "but certainly not today. If you will excuse me, Prince, I will bathe. Sheritra, bring Bakmut and come with me. You can have a canopy erected in the garden while I am being washed. If you do not mind, Prince. If you have concluded your visit with the Princess."
Khaemwaset was taken aback, both at the arrogant familiarity with which Harmin had addressed Sheritra and the presumption that the visit was less important than his own wishes. Neither had he missed the swift glance that had passed between mother and son while Harmin had been speaking, and he wondered what it might mean. Sheritra was rising. "Are you going to stay long, Father?" she inquired. "Because if not I want to sit and talk with you."
"But you would rather do something else at the moment," he finished for her. "I am not offended, Little Sun, and I will be here all afternoon." Harmin was already disappearing into the greyness of the passage, and with an apologetic smile to her father Sheritra followed.
Khaemwaset watched her with pleasure. Her whole mien had changed. Her shoulders were straight, her carriage more assured. There was even the suggestion of a slight seductive sway in her sharply boned hips. "You have been doing her good," he said softly. Tbubui stirred on her cushion, her hand sliding down her gleaming calf to the silver anklet with its pendant baboons.
"I think she loves Harmin," she replied forthrightly, "and love will turn a girl into a woman, a self-conscious, awkward child into a being with the allure of Astarte herself."
"And what of Harmin?"
"I have not spoken to him directly of the matter," Tbubui said in an undertone, "but it is obvious that he cares for her a great deal. Do not worry, Prince," she went on hastily, seeing his expression. "They are never alone together, and Bakmut continues to sleep just inside the Princess's door."
He laughed to cover thc moment of mild dislike for Harmin. "I cannot imagine her being anything other than delighted to have you join my family," he said rather pompously out of the moment of confusion. "I love you Tbubui."
"I love you also, dear Prince," she responded, looking up at him steadily. "I also am relieved that the Princess and I have so much affection for one another. Rest assured that I will do my best to gain the respect of Nubnofret also, and young Hori."
That will be a difficult task, Khaemwaset thought impatiently. Aloud he said, "I am the law, I am Ma'at under my own roof. They will accept you whether they like it or not." Clapping his hands he shouted, "Ib," and after a moment his steward approached from the garden and bowed. "Give me the document." For answer, Ib withdrew a scroll from his belt, handed it to Khaemwaset and smoothly walked away. Khaemwaset handed it to Tbubui.
"The marriage contract," he said; he could not keep the triumph out of his voice. "Read it at your leisure, and tell me if it is agreeable to you. I have added one clause that is a trifle unusual, for your protection as well as mine." She had placed the papyrus beside her and was watching him blank-faced. "Pharaoh must approve my choice of a wife if I am to remain in the line of succession in Egypt," he explained. "Therefore I ask you to add your seal to the scroll with the understanding that the document only becomes legal when Penbuy has returned from Koptos carrying proof of your noble blood." He had steeled himself to say these words to her, uncertain of her response, and now, as she continued to stare at him, he leaned forward and groped for her hand. It was icy and limp in his grasp. "Do not be offended, I beg you," he went on urgently. "It is a formality, nothing more."
"Koptos?" she said tonelessly. "You have sent your scribe to Koptos?" Then she seemed to come to herself. "Of course I understand, Prince," she assured him. "Love must not overwhelm the demands of state, must it?"
"You have misunderstood," he cried, as helplessly as a young man in the throes of first infatuation. 'I will have you anyway, Tbubui, as my brother Si-Montu defied Ramses to obtain Ben-Anath! But how much simpler, how much less anguish for my whole family, if I am able to marry you under my father's smile."
"And besides," she cut in, gently pulling her hand away, "your brother had no family when he won Ben Anath. You have a son who might be disinherited if you are taken from that illustrious succession, who will have had his own chance at the throne removed." Her chin came up, "I do understand, dearest. I am after all a noblewoman ..."
And no mean person, Khaemwaset's mind supplied immediately, cynically, and he started.
"... and can bow to the demands of state with equanimity." She was smiling now, a tiny, humorous quirk to her glistening red mouth. But I am not a patient woman. How soon will Penbuy return with the answer to my happiness under his oh-so-correct arm?"
"He left this morning," Khaemwaset told her. "He will arrive at Koptos in a little less than a week, and who can tell how long his researches will take? Can you contain your impatience for a month, Tbubui?"
For answer she glanced about the hall, rose to her knees and, placing both hands on Khaemwaset's bare thighs, she reached up and kissed him. Her lips, her tongue, were hot and wet. Her nails dug into his flesh, exciting him. "I will seal the contract today," she murmured, her mouth moving against his. "Forgive me, Prince, for my moment of chagrin. Have you told Nubnofret yet?"
Dizzily he relinquished her and she sank back onto the cushion. "Not yet," he managed. "I have not found an opportune time."
"Do not wait too long," she advised, and he shook his head, still giddy with desire.
"I plan a sumptuous suite for you, attached to the house," he said, "but it will not be ready before you move in. Will you accept lodgings with the concubines temporarily?"
She nodded coolly. "Temporarily," she agreed. "Sisenet will remain here or go back to Koptos, he has not yet decided which," she went on, "and Harmin is as yet undecided about what he will do."
Khaemwaset sat back. "You have already told your brother?" he asked, bewildered, and she gave him a level, almost arrogant glance.
"Naturally," she said. "I do not need his permission, but as he is my closest relative and older brother, I want his approval."
"And did he give it?" Khaemwaset was annoyed. He felt at an immediate disadvantage to a man who was definitely his social and hereditary inferior, and who should have had no say in the matter whatsoever. But then he was ashamed. Tbubui was a dutiful Egyptian woman, tactful and careful of the feelings of her loved ones.
"Yes, he did," she replied. "He wants me to be happy, Khaemwaset, and he says that you do us great honour."
Khaemwaset was mollified. "I must speak to him today," he said. "I am still getting nowhere with the scroll. Hori tells me that the false wall in the tomb has been rebuilt and the artists are re-creating the paintings. Soon it will be closed again."
Tbubui stood and smoothed down her linen. Khaemwaset's eyes followed the slow movement of her hands. "Sisenet is in his room," she said. "If your Highness wishes, I can summon him."
"No," Khaemwaset replied graciously, "I will come."
She inclined her head and crossed the hall. Khaemwaset followed, turning after her into the passage. She went left, and as he followed he glanced to the right. Sheritra's laughter drifted to him, coming on the hot breeze funnelled through the permanently opened door to the garden at the far end. In the blaze of white light he saw her kneeling on a reed mat under a flapping canopy, Harmin opposite, their heads almost touching. Before he looked away he saw her fling the knucklebones to the mat and give a cry of delight. Harmin was smiling.
Sisenet looked up, startled, as Khaemwaset entered, then rose from the chair and bowed gravely. This man knows I am insanely in love with his sister, Khaemwaset thought as he strove to meet the other's quiet gaze. Tbubui excused herself and Sisenet indicated the chair he had just left. Khaemwaset took it. On the table beside him was beer, the remains of a small meal and several loosely rolled scrolls.
"I see you have been reading," Khaemwaset remarked. "A pleasant occupation on an enervating day."
Sisenet sank to the edge of the couch and crossed his legs. For the first time, Khaemwaset noticed that the man's body was well toned, his calves tight, his stomach flat with no sign of a fold about the waist, though, due to his position, his spine was slightly curved. But he is a sedentary and studious man like myself, Khaemwaset thought jealously. How does he remain so supple?
"These scrolls are my favourite pastimes, Prince," Sisenet replied. One is the story of Apepa and Seqenenra, and the other is a rather rare and very ancient copy of the Book of the Heavenly Cow. As well as describing man's rebellion against Ra, his punishment and Ra's withdrawal into heaven, it contains certain magic spells for the good of those deceased."
Khaemwaset's interest was piqued. Unrolling them carefully he cast his eye over the tiny neat hieroglyphs. "They are treasures indeed," he said admiringly. "Did you buy them, Sisenet? I know many dealers in ancient documents. Who sold them to you?"
Sisenet smiled and Khaemwaset saw his face lose its usually grim aspect and become suddenly youthful. "I did not buy them, Highness," he said. "They belong to my family. One of my ancestors was a mighty historian and magician, and he must have been overjoyed to find both history and magic in that one precious scroll."
"Have you approached a magician to try out the spells?" Khaemwaset was intrigued.
Sisenet shook his head. "I myself have some small ability in the field," he explained. "I did my duty in Koptos as a priest of Thoth."
"You surprise me," Khaemwaset said, remembering how seldom he had conversed deeply with this man, how easily he had dismissed him as of no account. "Did any of the spells work? Are they correct?"
"Highness, as they are concerned with the well-being of the deceased, I have no way of knowing," Sisenet answered lightly, and Khaemwaset clapped a hand to his linen-helmeted forehead.
"Of course! How stupid of me! But tell me, who is the High Priest of Thoth in Koptos, and what is the temple like? I myself am a devotee of the god."
They talked for a while of religious matters, and Khaemwaset found himself warming to Sisenet's incisive mind, his polite method of arguing, his well-modulated, even voice that was a fitting companion to his lucid reasoning powers. Khaemwaset loved an involved discussion on some point of history, medicine or magic with someone as sophisticated in those fields as himself, and to his delight, Sisenet was proving to be just such a man. The scroll, he thought. Perhaps there is some hope after all. He did not know if he was disappointed or pleased.
"When can you come to my home and examine the scroll I borrowed from the tomb?" he asked eventually. "I am eager, now, to have done with it. It has been in the back of my mind like a vague itch ever since I saw it."
"I do not have your Highness's erudition," Sisenet answered, "and I doubt if I will be able to help you, but I would be honoured to try at your convenience."
Khaemwaset pondered. There was Nubnofret to talk to, and his official duties to at last clear away. Then he had to smile at himself. I am still reluctant to handle the thing. I still want to avoid it. "Come one week from today," he said. "I will hold the afternoon for us alone."
"Very well, Prince." Sisenet gave him a brief smile and both men fell silent. He will not bring up the subject of the marriage, Khaemwaset was thinking. It is my responsibility to do so. I believe I am a little in awe of this man. The realization surprised him.
"Tbubui tells me," he began carefully, "that you are content to have her marry me."
Sisenet gave a rare, open laugh. "How tactful you are, Highness! She does not need my approval, and the thought that I might have any control over your decision, you a prince of the blood, is ridiculous. But know that I am very pleased. Many men have desired her, and she has spurned them all."
"And what will you do?" Khaemwaset asked curiously. "Will you return to Koptos?" The question seemed to amuse Sisenet. His eyes gleamed at some private thought.
"I may," he replied, "but I do not think so. I am happy here, and the Memphis library is full of marvels."
"Would you like a post in my household?" Khaemwaset found himself asking out of a strange need to ingratiate himself with the man. He immediately regretted the offer. It sounded like a gentle attempt at compensation, or the price of guilt. But Sisenet was not offended.
"Thank you, Prince, but no," he declined. Still in that same odd, self-abnegatory mood, Khaemwaset was about to ask whether Harmin wanted help in advancing, but he remembered that Harmin would obtain an automatic title if he married Sheritra. The convolutions of the arrangement he had set in motion were too complex to consider at the moment, and besides, Khaemwaset thought, they make me afraid.
The conversation flagged. After a few innocuous pleasantries Khaemwaset took his leave, passing straight behind the hall and out into the glare of the garden. Sheritra and Harmin were no longer playing knucklebones. They were talking quietly while Bakmut trickled cool water over Sheritra's limbs. The heat was intense. Khaemwaset talked to them briefly, promised his daughter that he would see her again soon, and gathering his staff, he returned to the river. He did not see Tbubui. Now that the contract was in her hands, now that he had taken one more step towards an irrevocable, violent revolution in his life, he was like a general who regroups his forces and rests, waiting for a new gambit. He wanted the peace of his office and the reassuring sight of Nubnofret picking daintily through her food opposite him in the deep bronze of a summer evening.