"After the boring blue-blood, of course!"
The litter settled to the ground with a gentle bump. Nefert-khay pulled aside the curtain and leaned out. "This will do very well," she shouted. "Good for you, Simut! Come, Highness. I will fill your mouth with mud for not falling at my feet in immediate surrender."
They scrambled off the litter. The river flowed with an almost imperceptible motion a short distance away where there was clean sand and two gnarled trees leaning out over the surface. The river road was nowhere in sight, but Hori could hear voices and the soft thud of donkey hooves behind him, beyond a slight rise of land.
An exultant recklessness overtook him. With one quick movement he wrenched off his kilt, dropped it beside the litter and ran for the water, sensing Nefert-khay pulling down her sheath and hearing her trinkets tinkle as she shed them. Then he was full length in the Nile, coolness loosening the grit on his body, lapping him around, fluttering against his mouth. Am I awake? he asked himself stupidly. Am I going to be allowed to live again? His body rocked as Nefert-khay broke the surface beside him, smoothing back her now slick hair, the water cascading from the satin sheen of her brown skin. Then she was gone again and he felt her nudge against his knees. In a flash he had taken a breath and was groping for her even as she slipped deeper out towards the centre of the river.
For perhaps an hour they swam and played, their shouts and laughter bringing answering sallies from the crews of passing craft, then they crawled out of the water and lay side by side in the hot sand under the thin shade of the twisted trees, naked, panting and grinning.
"Do you think your aristocratic blue-blood wife will ever unbend enough to rub river mud into your hair?" Nefertkhay asked him, eyes squinting shut against the strong light. Hori propped himself up on both elbows and she flinched in mock discomfort as his trailing hair sent rivulets of water over her neck.
"Of course not," he answered promptly. "She will never go out under the sun for fear her skin might blacken like a peasant's, and the only water she will permit close to her body will be pure and perfumed." Then he kissed her, pressing his mouth gently against her mobile lips. Her arms came up to encircle his head and her body tensed and rose against his. But even as Hori felt the tip of her tongue against his own he knew it was no good. The taste of her was wrong. The contours of her face were wrong. Her body was shorter, her breasts smaller, than the body that he craved. I am being disloyal, the thought came clearly and coldly into his mind. Don't be ridiculous, he retorted silently. You are not bound to Tbubui by any ties save those of your own making. He tried to still his thoughts, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut and kissing Nefert-khay more thoroughly, but the feeling that he was betraying Tbubui persisted, strengthened, until at last he pulled away from the girl and stood. "The afternoon is far advanced," he said curtly. "We must get dressed and go."
After a moment she also came to her feet, her gaze troubled. Hesitantly she touched his cheek. "What have I done, Highness?" she faltered. "Have I offended you with my damnably impulsive speech?"
Aching with regret, for himself as well as for her, he took her hand and raised it to his mouth before letting it fall. "No," he answered vehemently. "Nefert-khay, you are beautiful and funny and intelligent and I hope with all my heart that your father betrothes you to a man who deserves such a rare prize."
Her eyes darkened. "But it will not be you, Hori."
"No, it will not be me. I am truly sorry."
She managed a weak smile. "I am sorry also. There is someone else?" He nodded and she sighed. "I should have guessed. It was naive of me to assume that the handsomest man in Egypt would not have formed an attachment. Well, let us deposit a generous amount of sand and silt onto the cushions of my litter so that my slaves will have something to do this evening." She walked up the slope towards the untidy pile of linen and he followed awkwardly, noting with a kind of mild desperation how the muscles in her perfect buttocks flexed and how shapely was her back.
They dressed hurriedly, woke the litter-bearers who were dozing close by, and Nefert-khay gave the order that would take them back to the palace. In the confined space of the curtained cubicle she fell to industriously brushing the grit from her legs and then winding up her hair, prattling on of nothing in particular all the while. Hori answered as best he could, not able to meet her eyes.
He was set down at the main entrance, thanked her gravely for a delightful interlude, and walked away without glancing back. He had never felt such self-loathing in his life, and he could almost see the bars of the cage that surrounded him. He had built it himself, he knew, but he no longer could remember how he had done so. There was no way out.
16.
Treat thy dependants as well as thou art able: for this is the duty of those whom the God has blessed.
FOUR DAYS AFTER FOUR DAYS AFTER the family's return from Thebes, Ptah-Seankh was announced to Khaemwaset as he was attempting to fulfil his promise to Ramses by attending to the backlog of official correspondence that he had neglected of late. Glancing up with relief from yet another missive of protest from yet another minor minister awash in his own tangle of bureaucracy, Khaemwaset dismissed his junior scribe and strode across the office floor to welcome the young man. the family's return from Thebes, Ptah-Seankh was announced to Khaemwaset as he was attempting to fulfil his promise to Ramses by attending to the backlog of official correspondence that he had neglected of late. Glancing up with relief from yet another missive of protest from yet another minor minister awash in his own tangle of bureaucracy, Khaemwaset dismissed his junior scribe and strode across the office floor to welcome the young man.
Ptah-Seankh advanced and bowed. He was deeply tanned, almost black, the whites of his eyes bluish against the startling hue of his skin, and his lips were peeling. To Khaemwaset he looked tired and strained, and his first thought was for the miles that had been covered with only the dead Penbuy and a few guards and servants for company. He embraced Ptah-Seankh.
"Welcome home!" he exclaimed, drawing his Chief Scribe towards the desk and thrusting a cup of beer into his hands. "I trust all went well with your father's beautification, Ptah-Seankh. The sem-priests and the High Priest of Ptah himself are waiting to bury him with every honour."
Ptah-Seankh gulped down the beer and set the cup carefully on the desk. "Thank you, Highness," he said. "My father's body is now resting in the House of the Dead. I inspected the work of beautification myself and I am satisfied."
That must have been hard, Khaemwaset thought with pity. He waved Ptah-Seankh to a chair, but the man hesitated. "With regard to the work you set me," he went on shyly, "I have completed it. Here are the results of my labours." He held out a scroll. Khaemwaset took it eagerly, then glanced at the scribe, who was standing with eyes downcast.
"What is the matter?" he asked impatiently, with a twinge of anxiety. "Is there bad news for me in this," he tapped the papyrus against his thigh, "or has the journey made you ill?"
Ptah-Seankh appeared to rally. His head came up and he met Khaemwaset's scrutiny with a smile. "The journey has left me dazed, Highness," he said. "That is all."
Khaemwaset had already broken Ptah-Seankh's personal seal and was unrolling the scroll. "Then you had better spend the rest of the day sleeping in your quarters. I will send word to the priests that Penbuy's funeral can now take place three days hence. Is that agreeable to you?"
Ptah-Seankh bowed his assent. Khaemwaset temporarily forgot him. He was frowning over the contents of the scroll. Then his face gradually cleared until he was beaming. "You did very well, Ptah-Seankh," he said. "Very well indeed. You may go."
When he was alone, Khaemwaset slumped into the chair behind the desk and closed his eyes. The last obstacle to his marriage had been removed and he was conscious of a deep relaxation. Tbubui had told the truth. Not that he had ever doubted her, but there had been a slight, a very slight suspicion that she might have exaggerated the age of her family's lineage. But here it was, black and emphatic in Ptah-Seankh's neat hand on the beige papyrus. A small estate but reasonably prosperous. A small but legitimate noble title. A small but functioning house he and she might use sometimes during the winter, when Koptos was merely a fire and not a raging furnace and he wanted to take her away from Nubnofret's accusing gaze. No duties to engage him, no demands on his time, just he and she together in the timeless hiatus of the country of the south. She would belong there, blending in in a way that was not possible here in busy Memphis. He remembered the south very well. The silence, the sudden, not unpleasant moments of loneliness the desert wind could conjure as it whipped and gusted over sand too hot for a naked foot, the Nile wandering into infinity through an indifferent, elemental landscape of vast blue sky and shimmering dunes, "Tbubui," he whispered. "You can come now."
He rose, feeling light and empty, and shouted for a scribe. When the man arrived, Khaemwaset dictated a short note to Tbubui and then went in search of Nubnofret. Penbuy's funeral was in three days' time. Tbubui could move in on the fourth. Then it would be Pakhons, the month of the harvest, the beginning of the Inundation. The beginning, he thought happily, of my new life.
HIS OLD FRIEND, the man who had been his constant companion, his advisor and sometimes his disgruntled judge, was buried with quiet dignity in the tomb he had laboriously prepared for himself on the Saqqara plain. The walls of his resting place were bright with the best-loved scenes from his life. Here he sat, straight-backed, head bent over his palette, while his master dictated. Here he stood in his hunting skiff, Ptah-Seankh as a boy, still adorned with the youth lock, kneeling beside him as he raised the throwing stick at a flock of marsh ducks frozen forever in their flight overhead. Here he made offerings to his patron, Thoth, holding out the smoking censer while the god turned his sharp ibis beak towards him with benevolent approval. Khaemwaset, looking at these things, felt a peace and joyous satisfaction emanating from the paintings and from Penbuy's personal belongings. The man had lived a fruitful life. He had been justly proud of his accomplishments. He had been honest, and had nothing to fear from the weighing of his heart in the Judgment Hall. It was true that he had been relatively young, not much older than Khaemwaset himself, and the circumstances of his death were most unfortunate, but Khaemwaset was positive that Penbuy had died with nothing to regret, nothing to wish changed.
After the funeral feast under the blue-and-white-striped awnings of Khaemwaset's train, after the dances and the wine and the expressions of grief, Khaemwaset himself sat and watched the sem-priests seal the tomb and the necropolis workmen shovel sand and gravel over the entrance. He had already paid for guards to be posted against grave robbers. They would stand their watch for four months. Khaemwaset was aware of the irony in his deed, for did he not himself break into tombs? He could not hold the thought, and it slipped away on the barely perceptible breeze of a sweltering summer afternoon. May you live again forever, old friend, he whispered. I do not think that you would like working in my household anymore. You belonged to a domestic order that has gone, and the loyalties of your son will not be as divided as yours might have been. He did not stir until the last load of earth had been tamped down and the workmen had been dismissed. Then he rose, got onto his litter and was carried slowly home.
The following morning the whole household was at the watersteps to greet Tbubui and welcome her to her new home. Khaemwaset, Nubnofret, Hori and Sheritra formed a glum gathering. Only their physical proximity to one another gave an illusion of cohesion, though Sheritra's hand stole into her father's as Sisenet's brightly beribboned barge hove into sight. Hori, clean, carefully painted and heavily jewelled, watched expressionlessly as the craft angled towards them. Nubnofret, regal but equally close-faced, nodded sharply once at the waiting priest, who immediately descended the steps and began to chant the words of blessing and purification while his acolyte sprinkled milk and bull's blood over the warm stone.
Tbubui emerged from the cabin on her son's arm. Harmin shot a quick glance at Sheritra, then looked away, turning to say something to Sisenet before handing his mother from the ramp to the steps.
The family waited. Nubnofret centred herself on the path, and it was to her first, as was the custom, that Tbubui prostrated herself. Nubnofret was a princess as well as the arbiter of all that went on in her house. It was obvious to Khaemwaset, tense with worry and anticipation, that his wife's good breeding was going to win out on this crucial day. Nubnofret would behave with impeccable correctness even though a horde of Khatti warriors was ransacking her home and she had only moments to live. The thought made him smile involuntarily. Sheritra let go of his hand. She too was tense, he noticed, her homely little face pale.
"Tbubui, I welcome you to this house in the name of my husband and yours, the Prince Khaemwaset, sem-priest of Ptah, priest of Ra, and lord of your life and mine," Nubnofret said clearly. "Rise and do him homage."
Tbubui came to her feet with the fluid grace that had made Khaemwaset's mouth dry up from the first moment he had seen her. She turned, the sun flowing along the plain circlet of silver crowning her forehead, and went to the stone again, this time in front of Khaemwaset. With a shock that sent colour flooding into his face, he felt her lips surreptitiously press against the arch of his foot, then she stood before him, kohled eyes sparkling under their dusting of gold eye-paint.
"A contract of marriage exists between us, Tbubui," Khaemwaset intoned, praying that under the onslaught of that slightly parted, orange mouth, those huge, knowing eyes, he might not forget the words of ritual. "I swear before Thoth, Set and Amun, the patrons of this house, that I have dealt fairly and honestly with you, and my signature on the contract testifies to that honesty. Do you also swear?"
"Most noble Prince," she responded, her voice rising high and emphatically, "I swear before Thoth and Osiris, the patrons of the house I once inhabited, that I have no other living husband, that I have declared the true extent of my temporal holdings, and that my signature is affixed to the contract in all honesty. This I swear." Behind her Sisenet stirred, shifting his weight surreptitiously from one foot to the other, and Harmin grinned openly at Sheritra. The three of them, Sisenet, Tbubui and Harmin, seemed full of an odd air of frivolity, as though at any moment they might burst out laughing.
Of course they are happy, Khaemwaset thought as he held out a hand for Tbubui to take. So am I. I want to laugh also. I want to tickle her in a most unprincely fashion. At that he did smile, and she answered him with a squeeze of her cool fingers.
His servants were lined up on either side of the broad way leading to the house. Nubnofret stepped in front, signalling again to the priest, who began to sing. The acolyte walked ahead of him, and the white milk and purple blood splashed and ran together to form pink rivulets that steamed on the hot stone and ran away into the grass. As Nubnofret led the way the servants went to the ground, doing full homage to their new mistress, who was gliding past them on the Prince's arm, her relatives behind.
Slowly the festive procession passed the main entrance where the path veered and made its way through the north garden, circumventing the still-chaotic building site. Khaemwaset saw Tbubui turn her head and give the mess a quick appraisal before looking solemnly ahead again.
Now, at the rear of the house, Khaemwaset's harpist joined them and began to play, his pleasant tenor blending with the plangent notes of the instrument and the piping of the dozens of birds that came habitually to drink and bathe in the fountain.
Beyond the rear of the house was the huge compound containing the servants' quarters, the kitchens, and the storehouses and granaries, but off to the right, in a pleasant circle of bushy trees, lay the concubines' home. Here Khaemwaset's other women were ranged in front of the building, dressed in their best linen. He addressed them briefly and informally, reminding them that Tbubui took precedence over them, and while she was quartered in their midst her word had weight. He had been about to tell them that Tbubui's word was law, but he bit his tongue just in time, remembering that Nubnofret as Chief Wife ruled the concubines as she ruled the whole establishment. Standing aside, he beckoned her. Regally she came, took Tbubui's hand, and led her into the house, the others following.
"You are now under the protection of the lord of this house," she intoned. "As you expect his kindness and companionship, so he expects the faithfulness of your body, mind and ka. Do you agree to this?"
"I do." Tbubui responded. There was a startling crash as the priest deliberately dropped the two pottery jars that had contained the milk and blood at Tbubui's feet, signifying the beginning of joy and bounty for the marriage. Then all began to clap. Khaemwaset moved past Nubnofret and took Tbubui in his arms. "When your suite is ready we will repeat this most delightful ceremony," he smiled, "but for now I am afraid these two little rooms must serve. Welcome home, my dearest sister." He kissed her amid redoubled noise, then all but Tbubui withdrew.
"The troop of Nubian dancers you hired for the evening are here already," Nubnofret remarked to Khaemwaset as they walked back to the house. "I have no idea what to do with them, but I suppose I can set up a couple of tents in the south garden. In any event, I must have a word with Ib about the placing of the tables." She raked him with a cool, amused glance. You are a foolish man enjoying a spurious second adolescence, that look said, but I have important things to do.
She swept away, shooing the excited servants ahead of her. Sheritra rubbed her father's arm. He turned to give her his attention, aware that the soles of his sandals were sticky with milk and blood and the aroma of the mixture was rising on the heat, an unpleasant, sweet-sick smell.
"Harmin has just told me that he will be staying on with his uncle," Sheritra said. "I thought he would move in with us, with his mother. Can't we find a corner for him, Father?" Please?"
Khaemwaset considered the limpid, pleading eyes in their rims of black kohl. She had parted her hair in the middle today, letting it hang in gleaming coils to her shoulders, and on her head was a princess's crown, a slender, gold circlet with the vulture goddess Mut perched warily above her smooth forehead, and the two thin, golden plumes of Amun quivering at the back. Her gold-shot linen was semitransparent, a drift of soft material that betrayed her tiny breasts and boyish waist. Khaemwaset thought how until recently she would have donned linen so thick that its weight would have been trying in the heat of summer, and her shoulders would have been rounded protectively over her chest. He could not be sure, but he fancied that she had painted her nipples-dark splinters of muted gold light could be seen under the sheath. A tremor of concern shook him, and he placed one finger under her chin.
"You know that there is no room for Harmin in the house until the addition is finished," he explained, tipping her face. "That will be quite soon, Little Sun. But I think Harmin prefers to stay with his uncle. Life here is somewhat hectic."
She pulled away with one sulky jerk. "If he is not here I must go there to visit," she said angrily, "and I cannot go without chaperones and I must sit decorously in the garden or in the reception hall and talk to him about nothing. I shall hate that!"
"You are exaggerating," he objected mildly. "Harmin will be coming here to see his mother almost every day until he chooses to move in with her."
"But I want to see him whenever I choose!" she almost shouted at him. "You have your happiness, Father. I want mine!"
"You know, Sheritra, I am not sure that I like all the changes in you," he said quietly. "You have become selfish and headstrong, and rude as well." He expected her to falter, to blush and drop her gaze, but she continued to stare up at him out of that exquisitely painted, unusual face.
"None of us like the changes that have taken place in you either, Father. You have not cared about my welfare in the least for a very long time, so I suppose I ought not to be surprised that you show no sympathy or understanding now. I want a betrothal to Harmin. When will you approach Sisenet on the subject?"
"It is not an appropriate time," Khaemwaset replied stiffly. "Come to me next week, when these festivities are over and Tbubui's period of adjustment is progressing well. I do not want to throw this at her yet."
Sheritra's lip curled. "No, I daresay you do not," she retorted, then she spun on her heel and stalked to where the young man was waiting in the shade of the house. Together they turned towards the south garden, their servants hurrying after.
She has simply gone from one extreme to the other, Khaemwaset told himself as he started forward. Tbubui has performed a miracle on her, and her love for the son has confirmed it. She is feeling the power of her transformation, and it is at present being translated as rudeness and arrogance. I understand, but I miss the old Sheritra.
"Will you sleep, Highness, before you change your linen for dinner?" Kasa was asking politely, and Khaemwaset followed him into the rear corridor with an inward sigh. All his relatives had been invited to the feast that was being prepared for Tbubui tonight. His father had sent a short, congratulatory excuse, and Merenptah likewise had wished his brother every happiness, in his scribe's hand but in his own florid words. But the rest of the family was coming together with certain Memphis dignitaries and a host of musicians, dancers and other entertainers. An air of electric excitement lay over the house. The cloying fragrance of the thousands of blooms carted in that morning made him think of Tbubui-exotic, enigmatic, even now exploring her small domain and perhaps day-dreaming of him, of the coming night. He did not think that he would be able to rest.
"No, Kasa," he told his body-servant. "I shall escape into the office and read for a while. Send for me when the guests begin to arrive." But once in his office, safely immured behind the closed doors, the noise muted and Ptah-Seankh industriously copying a manuscript while he waited for Khaemwaset's summons, he found that he was still restless. The heavy odour of the flowers had drifted after him. It was in his clothes, in his hair, and suddenly it reminded him of the two funerals he had just endured. His stomach heaved. He sat down behind the desk, let his head fall into his hands, and, closing his eyes, he waited.
The feast that night was the most sumptuous Memphis had seen in some time. Richly clothed guests choked Khaemwaset's large reception hall and spilled over into the gardens, where torches flared and tables had been set out, groaning with delicacies of every kind. Troops of naked dancers, black acrobats from Nubia and Egyptian beauties of both sexes, swayed and leaped between the revellers to the music of lyre, harp and drums. Nubnofret had selected the customary gifts for everyone with care-the bead necklaces were malachite and jasper instead of painted clay, the trinket boxes Lebanon cedar, the fans tiny red ostrich feathers gathered into electrum handles. The wine had come from the Delta, resurrected dusty and grimed from the straw beds where the jars had been laid ten years before. The servants would eat for the whole of the following weeks the leftover food.
Tbubui sat in the place of honour on Khaemwaset's right hand, raised above the crowd on a small dais, smiling graciously on those who came up to offer their good wishes. All the ingredients for a successful night were present, yet Khaemwaset could not shake off a sense of melancholy. Sheritra was laughing with Harmin. They had been inseparable all evening. Hori was eating with Antef, a wintry, rare smile coming and going on his face for the first time in many weeks as his friend talked of something that, over the general melee, Khaemwaset could not catch. Nubnofret and Sisenet were likewise deep in conversation, and he himself, Khaemwaset, had only to turn his head a fraction, move his hand almost imperceptibly, to make contact with the woman he adored above all else.
Yet the hall seemed a dismal place under all the gaiety. Something was missing. Or perhaps, he thought sadly, as Ib bent yet again to fill his cup, and a chorus of roars and whistles broke out as one of the Nubian dancers curved backwards until her face rested between the legs of Memphis's mayor, perhaps I have been through so much to obtain this prize that now, having it, possessing it, I am empty of purpose for a while.
Sisenet intercepted his unfocused gaze and raised a friendly hand. Khaemwaset answered the gesture. Tbubui leaned against him and pushed a piece of ripe fig into his mouth. Yet somewhere in the room a huge, invisible mouth was open, breathing desolation over the throng, and he could not escape the gale.
Much later, while the guests still shrieked and staggered through the house and grounds and the weary musicians still played, Khaemwaset and Tbubui slipped away, walking unsteadily over the brittle summer grass to the dim peace of the concubines' house. The place was deserted. All the women were still feasting, and no one but the Keeper of the Door, who greeted the pair respectfully and escorted them to Tbubui's rooms, saw them enter.
Once within, the door closed and night lamp lit, Khaemwaset reached for his prize. By now they had made love many times, but her mystery had not lessened. He wanted her with the same helpless longing she had prompted in him months ago, and he was becoming resigned to the knowledge that his desire could not be sated by the act of love; it merely intensified. Yet like a moth compelled to burn itself to death against the flame of a candle, Khaemwaset returned again and again to the source of his torment. Tonight was no different, and with it was the sadness that had overtaken him in the reception hall, an undercurrent of wistfulness that followed him through the violent consummation of his marriage and into his exhausted dreams.
THE MONTH OF PAKHONS came and the heat went on, an unremitting, punishing succession of breathless days and suffocating nights when the women of Khaemwaset's household dragged sleeping mats up onto the flat roofs of the buildings and spent the dark hours sleeping, gambling or talking. In the fields the harvest began, and Khaemwaset anxiously watched for the first reports from the men who measured the level of the Nile. The river was due to begin to rise towards the end of the month. By then the crops would be safely out of reach of the slowly gathering flood. Threshing and winnowing would go on in the compounds and the grapes would be trod. Si-Montu reported a record-breaking harvest of grapes from Pharaoh's vineyard. Khaemwaset's own stewards sent him ecstatic letters filled with the details of his own abundantly fertile fields, and in his household a precarious peace reigned. came and the heat went on, an unremitting, punishing succession of breathless days and suffocating nights when the women of Khaemwaset's household dragged sleeping mats up onto the flat roofs of the buildings and spent the dark hours sleeping, gambling or talking. In the fields the harvest began, and Khaemwaset anxiously watched for the first reports from the men who measured the level of the Nile. The river was due to begin to rise towards the end of the month. By then the crops would be safely out of reach of the slowly gathering flood. Threshing and winnowing would go on in the compounds and the grapes would be trod. Si-Montu reported a record-breaking harvest of grapes from Pharaoh's vineyard. Khaemwaset's own stewards sent him ecstatic letters filled with the details of his own abundantly fertile fields, and in his household a precarious peace reigned.
The work on Tbubui's suite was almost finished. She had taken to appearing on the site every morning and would recline under a parasol until the noon meal, watching the fellahin sweat in the well-nigh unbearable heat to raise the last of the bricks and fortify the roof. Khaemwaset liked to join her. Instead of dealing with the day's dispatches he would seek her out and discuss the interior finishing and furnishings of her new rooms, Harmin's continuing romance with Sheritra, whom he now saw almost every day when he came to spend an hour or two with his mother, and whether or not Sisenet wanted the position of Head Scribe in the Memphis House of Life, the library of rare scrolls.
The family took the noon meal together, but it was not a comfortable arrangement though Tbubui chattered happily about nothing, doing her best to draw Nubnofret and Hori, if he was there, into the conversation. But Nubnofret merely answered the questions that were put to her directly, and Hori would eat quickly and ask to be dismissed. Khaemwaset was angry and disappointed with them all, even Sheritra, who had taken to bringing up the subject of her betrothal at every opportunity. He had expected more from the people with whom he had lived for so many years, but their behaviour, just short of being rude, was not sufficiently pointed for him to reprimand.
He would escape from the hall with relief to spend the hottest hours of the day on his couch, as they all did. But often he could not sleep. He lay tossing under the soporific rise and fall of the fans held by his servants, wondering if the day would ever come when there would be a lessening of tension in the household.
The late afternoons and evenings were more bearable. Harmin would come, and after sitting in the garden with his mother for a while, would disappear to some deserted spot on the grounds in the company of Sheritra, Bakmut and a guard. Then Khaemwaset and Tbubui could retire to the concubines' house and make love in her silent bedchamber, where the filtered sunlight trickling through the closed shutters diffused into a dull gold over her sweat-damp body, and he could forget, for a while, his recalcitrant family. He and she would be bathed together, standing side by side on the bathing stone while the servants washed them. Often Khaemwaset himself liked to clean Tbubui's hair, passing the ropes of thick, wet tresses through his hands in a deliberate, sensual ecstasy.
There were usually official guests at the evening meal, and these Tbubui charmed with her intelligence and wit. Khaemwaset would watch Nubnofret anxiously, knowing that she had the power to forbid Tbubui to such feasts if she chose, but his Chief Wife forced no arguments and their visitors went away envying Khaemwaset the two women, so different and yet so accomplished, who shared his life.
Thus the pulse of Khaemwaset's life had become more erratic, but not unpleasantly so. He had begun to think that all would be well, when one day Tbubui laid aside the fly whisk with which she had been lashing herself, in a vain effort to disperse the clouds of hovering pests, and turned to him solemnly. They were reclining side by side on a mat and a scattering of cushions in the shade of the line of trees bordering the north garden. The addition was finished, the debris gone, and gardeners were labouring to dig flower beds against the smooth white walls of the new suite. The rooms inside still stood empty, but a host of craftsmen and artists was due to arrive the next day to hear Tbubui's wishes for her permanent residence. Khaemwaset had told her to order whatever she desired, confident in the knowledge that the simple good taste she had shown in furnishing her old home would be evident here also. She had warned him with laughing coquetry that simple did not mean inexpensive, but he had shrugged good-naturedly and waved away her hesitation. Now he put down the half-demolished bunch of black grapes he had been feeding her and prepared to have yet another discussion of her plans. "Do not tell me!" he smiled. "I recognize that expression, dear sister. You want acacia wood for your couch instead of cedar."
She briefly caressed his bare thigh. "No, Khaemwaset, this has nothing to do with my quarters. I have been unwilling to bring up the subject. It is hard for me to admit that I am unable to solve it by myself, but I am mystified and a little hurt ..." Her voice trailed away and she dropped her gaze. Immediately he was concerned.
"Tell me," he urged. "I would do anything for you, Tbubui, you know that! Are you not happy?"
"Of course I am happy!" she answered swiftly. "I am the most fortunate, the most loved woman in Egypt. It is my servants, Highness."
He frowned, puzzled. "Your servants? Are they lazy? Rude? I cannot believe that any servants trained by Nubnofret could be either!"
She was obviously casting about for the right words, her full lips parted, eyes restless. "Their training is excellent," she began with a delightful hesitancy, "but they seem noisy and talkative to me. Indeed, they often want to talk back. My cosmetician natters on while she paints my face. My body servants make comments on the gowns I choose, the jewellery I order removed from the boxes. My steward asks me what I would like to eat or drink."
Khaemwaset's bewilderment deepened. "Beloved, are you saying that they are impolite?"
She flapped her gold-ringed fingers impatiently. "No, no! But I am used to servants who do not speak at all, who do what they are told and nothing more. I miss my own staff, Khaemwaset."
"Then ask Nubnofret if you may dismiss her servants and send for those you want," Khaemwaset urged. "This is a trifling matter, Tbubui, not worth discussing."
She bit her lip; her hands had fallen, bunched, into her white lap. "I have already approached Nubnofret," she said in a low voice. "The Princess refused my request without an explanation. She merely pointed out that the household servants are the most efficient in the country and perhaps I was not handling them correctly. I am sorry, Khaemwaset. I know I should not be worrying you with something that properly belongs to Nubnofret and myself to solve. I do not want to offend her by appealing to your final authority or by simply taking the initiative in this matter, but I feel I have a right to surround myself with my own people if I choose."
"Of course you do." Khaemwaset was astounded by Nubnofret's refusal. In spite of her feeling towards Tbubui, such pettiness was not in her nature, and he too was mystified. "I will speak to her about it today."
Tbubui put out an appealing hand. "Oh no, my love. Please! The route to peace in this household cannot be through the thorns of disloyalty. Nubnofret must not be made to feel that her authority can be undermined whenever I wish. I have more respect for her than that. Just tell me how to broach the subject to her again."
"You are wise, tactful and kind," Khaemwaset said, "but I think that you must leave this to me. I know her. I can inquire into her motives without letting her guess that you have made a complaint to me. I apologize on her behalf, Tbubui."
"There is no need, Highness," she protested. "And thank you."
The conversation turned into other channels before petering out under the onslaught of a rapidly increasing heat. Tbubui's head gradually nodded until she fell asleep, limbs sprawled amid the cushions, hair disordered in the grass. Khaemwaset sat for a long time and watched her. Her mouth was slightly parted. Her dark lashes quivered on her brown cheeks. There was something so waxen, so death-like about her immobility that a stab of fear went through him, but then a tiny rivulet of sweat inched between her loosely covered breasts and he leaned down and tongued it away. What bliss, he thought, to be able at last to freely make that gesture. I would do anything for you, my heart, anything at all, and the fact that you hesitate to make a request of me makes me want to please you even more. Carefully, so that he did not wake her, he eased down until his face was on a level with hers. Closing his eyes he inhaled her perfume and her breath, the myrrh and that other scent, indescribable yet tantalizing, and as his imagination began to drift he told himself that he was the most fortunate man in Egypt.
He approached Nubnofret that evening, going to her apartment and allowing himself to be announced by Wernuro. Nubnofret came to him equably enough, offered him a stool, then returned to her place by the couch where her servants were stripping her. One stood by, a pleated blue froth of linen over her arm. Nubnofret stepped out of the green-beaded sheath she had worn at dinner, and without a trace of self-consciousness, snapped her fingers. Her body is all soft rounds and curves, Khaemwaset thought as he watched the blue cloak being wrapped around her and tied with a wide ribbon. She is still beautiful, but not to me. How I wish it were not so! I grieve for her, my proud, unhappy Nubnofret, but there is nothing I can do.
"How can I help you, Khaemwaset?" she asked, arms extended for the blue lapis bracelets being pushed over her hands. "Is something on your mind?"
"Not really," he lied. "We have not talked much lately, and today I have missed you."
She cast him a shrewd look. "Is it Sheritra's infatuation with that boy?"
Khaemwaset sighed inwardly. "No, although I suppose that soon we must decide what we are going to do about her. Have you received any word from your farm stewards, Nubnofret? Has the harvest begun yet in your Delta holdings?"
She crossed to her cosmetic table and sat, picking up a mirror. "My lips are dry," she said to her cosmetician. "Do not henna them again. Anoint them with a little castor oil. I received a scroll yesterday with regard to my few grapevines," she said in answer to his question. "I think this year I will have the grapes dried and stored. We ran out of raisins last year and we certainly need no more wine put down."
He agreed and they talked idly for a while. Some of the stiffness went out of her, and she began to grin at him with something of her old cheerfulness when he complained that the birds were attempting to steal the food for the fish in their pond. But she quickly withdrew into herself when he at last dared to say, "I think Tbubui is missing her servants, my dear. She has not said so directly, but it must be hard for her, not only trying to adjust to a strange household but attempting to adapt to strange staff as well. Why don't you suggest to her that she dismiss those she has and send for some familiar faces?"
Nubnofret went very still, then she waved her cosmetician away with one savage, imperious gesture and rose. "I hate what you have become, Prince," she said coldly and deliberately. "So meekly pliant, so anxious to please, so deceitful in a petty, altogether reprehensible way. At one time you would have come to me full of a royal confidence and you would have said, 'Tbubui wants to know why you refused her request and I want to know too.' You are fast earning my contempt, husband."
Khaemwaset left the stool. "I did not know that she had approached you," he lied hotly, desperately, and she laughed with derision.
"Did you not? Well now you do. She wants her own staff. My servants are not good enough for her. I turned her down."
"But why?" he asked, coming to a halt before her fiery eyes, her white, dilated nostrils. "The request was reasonable, Nubnofret. It would have cost you nothing to grant it. Is your jealousy so cruel?"
"No," she snapped. "You may not believe me, Khaemwaset, but I am not jealous of Tbubui. I dislike her intensely because she is a crude, common woman without a shred of the morality that has made Egypt a great nation and kept its rulers and nobility safe from the excesses and disastrous weaknesses of foreign kingdoms. She is a sham. The children sense it, I think, but you are blind. I do not blame you for that." She smiled without warmth. "I blame you for slowly allowing her to gain ascendency over you."