"Why frightening?" Khaemwaset asked, intrigued He noted that Sheritra had hitched a little closer so that she might hear better.
"Because one day the slaves might realize that they outnumber the free and might take steps to wrench that freedom from us," Tbubui said simply. Her expression was serious, sober, a student of human nature discussing that nature with another student. Her gaze was direct.
"Such a wish would be foolish," Khaemwaset objected. Privately he was thinking, one does not talk to women in this way. Women run households and handle their businesses, practical things, but they do not play with theories. He could not imagine this kind of talk with Nubnofret. But with Sheritra ... A hand appeared beside him, slid a spicy pastry from the plate on the table, and retired. So she had relaxed enough to be nibbling. That was good, a surprising sign. "Our army is powerful, swift, and well armed," he went on. "No uprising of slaves, no matter how strong, could withstand my father's soldiers."
"The army itself contains thousands of foreign mercenaries." Startled, Khaemwaset looked around. The voice was Sheritra's. "Imagine, Father, if they decided that their loyalties lay with blood ties, not with Grandfather's gold!"
"You are right, Sheritra," Tbubui replied, nodding at the girl, "and surely your father will agree with us. Egypt needs purifying."
He did agree, and had been arguing for the sake of arguing, but now he found himself left out of the conversation. Sheritra, her shyness forgotten for some reason known only to herself, was answering their guest without a trace of diffidence, and Tbubui was replying with all her attention. Most people did not take the trouble to draw Sheritra out. After the exchange of obligatory pleasantries they would turn their minds and faces to the gorgeous Hori and the rest of the family, and Sheritra would retire into the shadows, eating nothing, drinking little and escaping as soon after dinner as she was permitted.
But Tbubui had somehow drawn out the girl, put her at ease without ostentatiously trying, a ploy that had failed many times when well-meaning guests tried it. Khaemwaset realized that he had been deep in his own thoughts. He came to himself in time to hear Tbubui say, "But Princess, think of the expense such a policy would entail! What pharaoh could afford it? Even Ramses the Lord of All could not."
Khaemwaset blinked. Sheritra was now at Tbubui's feet, wiping crumbs from her mouth, her colour high not with embarrassment but with enjoyment, even though Tbubui was actually disagreeing with her, something Sheritra all too often took personally. "Why not?" his daughter objected heatedly. "Let him put a tax on each one first! The gods know, Tbubui, that there are plenty of dirt-poor Egyptian fellahin who would welcome a chance ..." Khaemwaset let his glance wander. Harmin was now talking to Nubnofret. He was on his feet, one hand on his slanted, trim hip, head bent over her while gesturing with the wine cup held in his other hand. She was looking up at him attentively, absorbed, perhaps even admiringly. Sisenet was sitting in silence, his eyes on the fountain, his expression closed.
Reluctantly Khaemwaset acknowledged that he must leave Tbubui's presence and be a proper host to her retiring brother. He turned in time to see her cross one long leg over the other. The slitted sheath fell back, exposing a breathtaking length of dusky thigh. Though the woman's attention never left a gesticulating Sheritra, Khaemwaset somehow knew that the movement had been for his benefit, and Tbubui was fully aware of his glance.
Dinner was a happy, noisy affair. At Khaemwaset's request, Nubnofret had demanded the presence of all musicians in the Prince's pay, and his young dancers and singers as well. Normally, Khaemwaset liked to dine in relative quiet, particularly if his guests were present on official pharaonic business and would want to talk seriously after the sixth course, but this time he had wanted entertainment. Spring flowers were everywhere, heady in their ripeness, and incense filled the air with a bluish haze. The dancers wove about the little tables, finger-cymbals clicking, weighted hair swinging, and the singers' harmony filled the ears of the company.
Khaemwaset had been careful to place Sheritra close to himself and the doors so that she could both be protected and beat a silent retreat when she wanted to. But he found her place taken by Tbubui, a laughing, animated, altogether bewitching Tbubui who joked, fingered her injured foot with mock alarm and kept up a stream of entirely fascinating conversation that included Nubnofret as well as himself. Hori and Sisenet had their heads together over the wine and were discussing something in private, inaudible voices.
Harmin sat beside Sheritra and she did not seem to mind. Once in a while he would touch her-on the shoulder, on the arm-and once Khaemwaset happened to see him putting a white lotus bloom behind her ear, smiling in answer to her chuckle. What is happening to us all tonight? he wondered delightedly. It is as though a spirit of good-humoured recklessness has invaded the house, so that surprising but good things might overtake us at any moment.
The party did not break up until the dawn. Even when good manners demanded that the guests be allowed to go, the family gathered on the watersteps in the grey, fleetingly cold un-light, as if to drain the last drops of their company. Looking around at their palely lit faces, Khaemwaset was surprised to see Sheritra's still among them, and, startled by the expression of half-hungry eagerness all of them carried. No one was drunk, but all, though exhausted, were still exhilarated. The torches that had burned all night on the visitors' barge in preparation for their departure were extinguished. Tbubui, Sisenet and Harmin made their reverences, went aboard, and the family watched the craft angle out of sight on an oily, waveless river. Nubnofret sighed.
"It is going to be a hot day," she said. "Well, Khaemwaset, they were excellent company and I should like to invite them again, even though their accent is provincial and their taste in everything is quaint, to say the least."
A return invitation from his wife for no reason other than a desire to see her guests again was high praise. Khaemwaset felt absurdly complimented. But he did not agree with her that their accent was a provincial one. He had travelled Egypt on official business far more often than she, and knew that if he had heard it before he would have placed it.
"They are interesting people," Sheritra put in, and added rather grudgingly, "I think they really liked me and were not talking to me just to be polite." No one dared to comment for fear she might misconstrue what was said and her evening would be spoiled.
"Sisenet is widely read," Hori said. "It is a pity that you did not have more time to spend with him, Father. I was telling him about the tomb, about our problems interpreting the wall scenes, and he offered to try and help. Do you mind?"
Khaemwaset considered. He felt a little guilty that he had had so few words with the man, but he had sensed that Sisenet was a person of few words anyway and was self-sufficient in his silences. "I only mind if he is no more than a thrill-seeking amateur," he replied, "but you would have guessed that, and put him off. I suppose he may have something to add to our speculations."
Nubnofret gave a prodigious yawn. "What a charming young man Harmin is!" she said, blinking like an owl in the strengthening light. Khaemwaset, tired though he was, could almost see the machinations begun behind those huge, shadowed eyes. Oh do not say anything just yet, he begged her silently. I saw Sheritra's response to him too, but a chance word now will earn her scorn and that will be that. However, Nubnofret did not go on. She yawned again, bade them good morning and walked away. Sheritra met her father's gaze.
"They were all charming," she said deliberately. "As a matter of fact, I liked them."
Khaemwaset put an arm around her thin shoulders, suddenly loving her with a fierce protectiveness. "Let's get some sleep," was all he replied, and together, still linked, they turned towards the house.
7.
I am unto thee like a garden, which I have planted with flowers and, all manner of sweet-smelling herbs.
OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS Khaemwaset cast about for some excuse to visit Tbubui again. Her foot had healed well, and he knew he would not meet any of them at the social and religious functions he attended in Memphis as Pharaoh's representative. Nobility they might be, but their blood was not sufficiently blue to allow them to hold any major offices; besides, they did not seem drawn to court life or the maze of governmental administration. There were many such families in Egypt, living quietly on their holdings, paying their taxes and sending the obligatory gift to the Living Horus on New Year's Day, immersed in the simple life of the villages and the mundane concerns of their people. Khaemwaset cast about for some excuse to visit Tbubui again. Her foot had healed well, and he knew he would not meet any of them at the social and religious functions he attended in Memphis as Pharaoh's representative. Nobility they might be, but their blood was not sufficiently blue to allow them to hold any major offices; besides, they did not seem drawn to court life or the maze of governmental administration. There were many such families in Egypt, living quietly on their holdings, paying their taxes and sending the obligatory gift to the Living Horus on New Year's Day, immersed in the simple life of the villages and the mundane concerns of their people.
But they are not usually so erudite, Khaemwaset thought on more than one occasion as he returned unwillingly to his routine. The soil of the land to which they relate so closely clings to their feet. Why are these three so different? What has brought them from the backwater of Koptos to Memphis? If they were bored, then why not go directly to Pi-Ramses? If Tbubui is ambitious for Harmin, that would have been the logical choice, for she is bold and learned and would have no difficulty getting herself noticed. I will ask her if she would like me to bring the youth to my father's attention, perhaps get him a minor post at court where he can show his skills and advance on his own. All he needs is that first connection. But it was too soon, he realized. He did not want to appear patronizing. Nor did he want Tbubui to think that he was merely ingratiating himself with her. Which, he reflected ruefully, would probably be the truth.
It was Hori who solved his dilemma. He approached his father a week into the month of Tibi, waiting until Khaemwaset had dealt with the daily correspondence before ambling into the office and perching on the edge of the desk in his customary fashion.
"There was a letter from your grandmother today," Khaemwaset told him. "She writes cheerfully but her scribe took it upon himself to add a note to the bottom of the scroll. Her health is failing rapidly."
Hori frowned. "I am sorry to hear it. Will you be going north then?"
"No, not yet. She is well cared for and I do not think the situation is critical." Khaemwaset regarded the prospect of more weeks in the Delta with the horror of a trapped hare. He wanted nothing more at the moment than to cultivate Sisenet and his sister without interruption. The thought came tangled with shame, but he consoled himself by imagining that the scribe would have asked for his presence more explicitly if his mother's condition had been dangerous.
Hori sighed. "So many people speak of her with awe," he said quietly. "She must have embodied everything that was good and beautiful in her day. Aging is so sad, isn't it, Father?"
Khaemwaset ran his eye over the perfectly muscled thigh resting on the polished wood of the desk, the flat, taut stomach, the straight shoulders and upright spine before him. Hori was smiling at him faintly, his translucent eyes ringed in their long black lashes, those appealing crinkles around the sensuous curve of his mouth.
"It is only sad if the years behind have been wasted," he commented drily, "and I doubt very much if Astnofert regards her life as a waste. And speaking of waste, Hori. you are well into your nineteenth year and will soon be twenty. You are a fully royal prince. Don't you think it is time you started casting about for a wife?"
The smile left Hori's face. His dark, feathery eyebrows shot up in surprise. "But I have been looking, Father!" he protested. "The young women bore me and the older ones are unattractive. What am I supposed to do?"
"Let your mother and me find you a noblewoman, and then form your own harem. I'm serious, Hori. Marriage is a duty for a prince."
Hod snorted. "Yes I know. But I look at you and Mother, how comfortable you are together, how your few concubines languish away because you so seldom bother with them, and I keep hoping that I might also find someone who would share my life, not just run a household. In that respect you have set a bad example, Father!"
Khaemwaset forced a smile. Guilt threatened him and he beat it back. "Nubnofret and I are perhaps not as close as you seem to think," he said quietly.
"You were at one time," Hori broke in loudly. "And look at Uncle Si-Montu and Ben-Anath! That is what I want, Father, and I will wait another ten years if necessary in order to have it!"
"Very well." Khaemwaset did not feel like arguing. "I can see that I am to support you for the rest of your life." Hori grinned engagingly and slipped from the desk. "Why did you come to see me?"
"Oh yes." Hori flung himself with artless grace into the empty chair on the other side of the desk. "I received a message from Sisenet assuring me that his offer of help at the tomb was not polite fiction, and wanting to know when his presence might be welcome on the site. I wanted to ask you about it again, just to make sure it is all right."
"Send a reply and invite him tomorrow, mid-morning," Khaemwaset said quickly. "I will join you both. Even if he has nothing much to say, we can give him a meal."
"Very well. I'm looking forward to it. I think I might invite them all. Tbubui herself seems to be a woman of great education." His eyes slid away from Khaemwaset's. "Have you prepared our horoscopes for Tibi?"
Khaemwaset looked at him curiously. "No," he said slowly. "For some reason I am loath to do it this month. Last month's and the month's before were so catastrophic for me, and to a lesser extent for you, yet the time has passed without great incident. I am begining to wonder if I am making some fundamental mistake in my method."
"I would not exactly say that the time has passed without great incident," Hori mused, already heading for the door. Then he turned and stood still, hands behind his back. "Father ..."
"Yes?"
After a moment Hori shook his head. "Oh nothing. I shall ask Mother if it is all right to bring them back here for the noon meal tomorrow. Or they might even invite us."
"They might." But Khaemwaset spoke to an empty doorway. Hori had gone.
KHAEMWASET HAD NOT VISITED the tomb site for several weeks, but it had not changed much. He stood under the shade of his canopy at the top of the stairs, piles of dry rubble to right and left, Penbuy behind him and the guests coming towards them over the shifting plain of Saqqara. Watching Tbubui's sandals sink and rise, spewing sand as she walked, he wondered fleetingly if the heat and grit were causing her pain, and why in any case Sisenet had not ordered litters for them. Then his thoughts were caught away in the rhythmic swing of her hips under the white sheath, the darting of her kohled eyes as she took in the site. the tomb site for several weeks, but it had not changed much. He stood under the shade of his canopy at the top of the stairs, piles of dry rubble to right and left, Penbuy behind him and the guests coming towards them over the shifting plain of Saqqara. Watching Tbubui's sandals sink and rise, spewing sand as she walked, he wondered fleetingly if the heat and grit were causing her pain, and why in any case Sisenet had not ordered litters for them. Then his thoughts were caught away in the rhythmic swing of her hips under the white sheath, the darting of her kohled eyes as she took in the site.
The three came up and bowed, and the waiting canopy-bearers rushed to cover them as Khaemwaset had instructed. Tbubui's pupils widened under the shade. Khaemwaset, bemused, saw the rims of black enlarge. The whites were almost blue in their purity.
Hori came hurrying from the dim entrance, a welcome on his lips as the one who had proffered the invitation. Khaemwaset noticed an agitation about him, but he seemed happy enough.
After a few moments of idle chatter, Khaemwaset ushered them down the steps and into the constant coolness of the short passage. With a nod he gave Hori permission to take charge of Sisenet, but Tbubui also wandered away.
Khaemwaset followed her with his eyes, all at once oblivious to his surroundings, all his being intent on the sweet, alluring curves of her, the rise and fall of her heels, the clean sweep of her throat and neck as she looked up to study the bright paint-work.
When she came to the two statues she halted, and stood for a long time staring, then she leaned forward and caressed them, her light fingers moving gently over every groove. "We love life so passionately, we Egyptians," she said. "We want to hold onto every hot desert wind, every heavy odour from our garden flowers, every touch from those we adore. In building our tombs and preserving our bodies so that the gods may resurrect us, we spend gold like water tossed down our summer-parched throats. We write spells, we perform rituals. And yet who can say what death means? Who has returned from that dark place? Do you think one day someone might, Prince? Or perhaps already has, without our knowledge?" She stepped towards him "They say that the fabled Scroll of Thoth has the power to raise the dead," she went on, watching him intently. "Will it ever be found, do you think?"
"I do not know," Khaemwaset answered awkwardly. "If it exists it will be protected by Thoth's powerful spells."
She came closer "Every magician dreams of finding it," she said softly, "if indeed it lies hidden somewhere. But few could control it if they did. Do you desire it, Great Prince, like the others? Do you hope that you might stumble across it each time you open a tomb?"
Was there something mocking in her tone? Many nobles regarded the magicians' search for the Scroll as a naive joke, and if she did too he would be bitterly disappointed. It seemed from her expression that she was privately amused by something. "Yes, I desire it," he answered straightforwardly. "Now would you like to go into the burial chamber?" She nodded, still smiling.
Hori and Sisenet were already them, their low voices drifting, disembodied, past the torchlight. Placing an authoritative hand on her arm, Khaemwaset accompanied Tbubui and they walked into the room where the two coffins lay. Once more he watched her as she released herself from his grip and went forward, leaning into the unknown man's sarcophagus.
"There are cut threads attached to this man's hand," she commented at last, standing away: "Something has been stolen from him." She looked squarely at Khaemwaset. He nodded.
"You are correct," he replied. "The body had a scroll sewn onto it, which I took. I have treated it with great care, as I do all my finds, and when it has been copied it will be returned to this coffin. I am hoping it will add to the sum of our knowledge of the ancients."
She made as if to say something, then obviously thought better of it. Hori and Sisenet were engaged in knocking on the walls. "Here! It is here," Hori said, and the other man put his ear to the plaster.
"Strike once more," he requested. Hori complied, then Sisenet straightened. "It sounds as though there is another chamber beyond," he observed. "Have you considered the possibility that this wall is false?"
Khaemwaset tensed as Hori nodded. "Yes I have," he said hesitantly, "but to explore it would mean tearing apart these decorative scenes. Now that would be true vandalism." He glanced at his father. "In any case, the decision to do so is not mine to make. My father must take the risk."
Under no circumstances, Khaemwaset thought, is that wall coming down. I do not know why I fear this tomb but I do. Something in my ka shrinks from it. "We can discuss it later," he said briskly. "Sisenet, my son tells me that you are an informed historian yourself. I would be happy to hear your explanation for all the water depicted in this tomb. The inscriptions are few and we are puzzled."
Sisenet smiled faintly, looking at his sister, then at Khaemwaset. He shrugged, with an artless, aristocratic grace, his black eyebrows lifting. "I can only hazard a guess," he said. "Either this family adored spending their leisure in fishing, fowling and boating and wished to preserve their delight and prowess with line and throwing stick, or ..."-he cleared his throat-"... or water represented some terrible cataclysm to them, a curse fulfilled, perhaps, and they felt compelled to chronicle it in the paintings of their daily lives." He shook his head. "I am not much help, I'm afraid. Nor do I know why the coffin lids were left standing against the wall."
"There is no way to tell," Hori said heavily, and Khaemwaset pulled himself together. He had been watching Sisenet as the man was speaking, that odd feeling of familiarity tugging at him once more. In this setting it was stronger, as though Sisenet naturally blended with these ancient surroundings, his self-sufficiency somehow one with the heavy stillness no sound or activity could dissipate, his air of slightly arrogant authority a part of the cold dignity of the dead. The small puzzle annoyed Khaemwaset until, as Sisenet glanced at him without expression, he was suddenly reminded of the statue of Thoth overshadowing the dim chamber. Of course, he thought with relief. The level, unblinking stare of the god, his air of secret wisdom and implacable judgment, was mirrored in Sisenet's unshakeable calm. He smiled.
"The hour grows late, and Nubnofret will be waiting to serve us lunch," he said. "Be our guests, I beg, and let us leave this mustiness."
They accepted his invitation. Outside, the canopied litters were waiting under a blistering sun and the bearers dozed, their backs against the relative coolness of the enormous rock that had blocked the entrance to the tomb. Hori immediately invited Sisenet to share his litter, forcing Khaemwaset reluctantly to offer his to Tbubui and Harmin, who had stood in the middle of the larger tomb chamber the whole time without uttering a single word. Khaemwaset would have preferred to ride into Memphis with Tbubui's long, thinly clad leg resting against his own. He himself commandeered Ib's litter. "Why did you not bring litters?" he asked Tbubui as she slid onto the cushions beside her son, and in the act of propping herself on one elbow she smiled up at him.
"We prefer to walk when we can," she replied, her kohled eyes half-shut against the brilliant light. "Walking is a constant pleasure and delight, Prince. The heat here is as nothing to the heat at Koptos and besides, Koptos is barren. We walk, we smell the river, we enjoy the movement of the shade. Our skiff is moored at the Peru-nefer docks."
"You walked all this way?" Khaemwaset said unbelievingly, and she nodded. "I will send a servant to order your skiff to our watersteps," he offered, and stepping back, signalled to the bearers.
He spent the time on the journey back to his house reliving his moments beside Tbubui in the tomb and pondering Sisenet's words regarding the water. Either explanation would be satisfactory, he reflected, unseeing eyes fixed on the closed and light-suffused curtains of the conveyance. But I prefer the latter. That tomb is not a peaceful resting place. Something awful sleeps there, and I can well believe it is a family's doom.
It was then that he remembered Sisenet's comment about the coffin lids and he leaned forward, frowning. How had the man known that they were standing against the wall when Hori and I first penetrated the inner room? Hori must have told him. All the same, Khaemwaset thought again as the litter swayed and lurched into the noise of the city, I will ask.
Lunch was a cheerful affair, taken outside under a large awning. After he had eaten, Khaemwaset sat hugging his obsession to himself like some invisible cloak, pretending to drowse while his slitted eyes followed Tbubui's every move. To his chagrin she had few words for him. She was dividing her attention between Nubnofret and Hori, who lay sprawled in the grass at her feet, speaking rapidly and seriously to the one, laughing fetchingly with the other, and Khaemwaset, vaguely annoyed, thought that he had never seen Hori so animated and entertained.
Sisenet was sitting a little apart, both hands around his wine cup, watching the monkeys caper and gibber by the pool. He seemed content enough, with the self-sufficient coolness Khaemwaset was beginning to recognize as uniquely his. Khaemwaset had talked to him while the food was being served and had managed to ask him how he had known about the coffin lids. He had looked bewildered for a moment and then said, "I don't remember, Prince. Hori must have told me last time we dined. He and I talked at great length about the tomb." Khaemwaset was satisfied. They had chatted for a few more minutes but Sisenet had seemed disinclined to carry a conversation and had retired to the wine, leaving his host to give Tbubui his undivided, though clandestine, attention.
Sheritra had run out to greet the guests without a trace of the bashfulness that was her curse. She had answered all questions freely, eaten whole-heartedly, and was now perched on a pile of cushions under one of the sycamores with Harmin, both of them drowned in the tree's deep shade. Khaemwaset took a moment to appreciate the young man's classical good looks, his glossy, straight black hair, his long, ringed fingers, before thinking, very well, very well. It would surprise me, for surely Harmin, once known, could have his pick of any Memphis beauty, but perhaps he is as rare a bird as Hori and will understand my daughter's hidden qualities. I must investigate this family's lineage. He turned his hidden gaze back to Tbubui. Presently he rose. "Tbubui," he said, "I believe that you are interested in medicine."
She glanced up at him lazily, obviously somnolent with the heat. "Yes, Prince, I am. I suppose Harmin told you."
"Would you like to inspect my remedies?"
For answer she rose. Nubnofret glanced their way but Khaemwaset, reading her absent expression, knew that she did not mind. He started for the house.
"Do you treat your own staff?" he asked Tbubui as they passed into the welcome gloom of the hall and made their way to Khaemwaset's office. "Or have you your own physician in residence?"
"I prefer to treat them myself," she answered behind him, and Khaemwaset could have sworn that he felt her warm breath between his naked shoulder-blades. "That way I am learning all the time. They do not seem to mind my mistakes."
She stood looking about the orderly room, now filled with the deep, drugged stillness of the later afternoon. Khaemwaset unlocked the library and beckoned her within, closing the door behind her. Without pause he opened the chest that contained his herbs and philtres, not marvelling at how he was breaking his own usually rigid rule regarding whose hands disturbed them, and Tbubui became immediately brisk and curious.
She examined them carefully and questioned him fully on their cost and use, the seductive, magnetic woman gone, replaced by one whose intelligence and concentration inflamed him in a new way.
He forced himself to answer her rationally, to make his voice obey him, but he was trembling as her heavily ringed hands caressed his pots and jars, and her hair fell forward as she bent over the chests.
Handing the collection back to him her fingers brushed his, her inadvertent touch cool although beads of sweat had collected in the hollow of her throat and the skin between her breasts glistened with moisture.
At last he locked his medicines away, then stood, intending to usher her out. He found her with her head thrown back and her eyes closed, one hand working the back of her neck. "It is so quiet in here," she murmured. "Almost as quiet as my home. This room has an atmosphere that banishes the outside world as though it did not exist."
Khaemwaset's control deserted him. Sliding his own hand behind her neck he forced her back until the wall stopped them, then he leaned into her and brought his mouth down on her own. A stab of pleasure such as he had never known lanced his abdomen and he groaned, preternaturally aware of the soft underside of her lips as his tongue flicked over them, the cold resistance of her teeth before they parted. Her breath was in his mouth Then it was over. He withdrew shakily, his own breath coming hard, and she lifted a hand to her face, brushing against his penis lightly, briefly, as she did so.
"What ails you, Prince?" she said in a low voice, her eyes all at once heavy-lidded, her nostrils flaring. "Why this?"
You ail me, he wanted to blurt. I sicken from you like a love-hungry youth. Your mouth is not enough, Tbubui. I must have all of you, my tongue in the valleys I can imagine so painfully but not yet see, my hands gauging the texture, the temperature of your skin, my body ceasing to obey my mind and for once knowing only its driving need. For once ... He did not apologize.
"I sought you for a long time," he said huskily. "My servants grew exhausted. I was robbed of sleep, my food was as the sand, dry and tasteless. That kiss was compensation for it all."
"And was it compensation enough, Prince?" she asked, her smile gently mocking; "Or will you demand a full recompense? It will not be easy. No, it will not. For I am of noble birth and no mean person."
Immediately an urge to violence mingled with his lust. He wanted to bruise her lips with his teeth, knead her breasts until she cried out. For one blinding moment he hated her constant poise. The words of desire died on his tongue, and with a curt gesture he ushered her from the room.
The guests left at sunset, though Nubnofret had invited them to stay for the evening meal. "We have another commitment, unfortunately," Sisenet explained, "but we thank you for your boundless kindness. Remember to send me word about that wall in the tomb," he added, turning to Hori. "I am very interested. Indeed the whole day has been intriguing. I have enjoyed myself enormously, standing alive in the presence of the dead."
They took their leave, and began to file up the shadowed ramp at the foot of the watersteps. Their skiff waited motionless on the red-splashed, smooth mirror the Nile had become at that hour.
All at once Tbubui stumbled. With a cry she slipped towards the unguarded edge of the ramp, arms flung out to catch a non-existent rail, and Khaemwaset jumped forward, but before he could reach her Harmin had pulled her back.
"Are you all right?" Khaemwaset called, hurrying up to her. She nodded, trembling in every limb, her face chalk white. Harmin, an arm across her shoulders, turned her and she walked unsteadily into the skiff. Sisenet followed without speaking a word, and the tiny boat cast off and glided away. Khaemwaset returned to his family.
"She is not harmed," he replied to Nubnofret's silently raised eyebrows.
"Her reaction to the prospect of a tumble in the mud was rather extreme," Nubnofret commented, and Hori shook his head.
"Not really," he said. "Her husband drowned, and ever since she has been mortally afraid of water. Apparently he fell from a raft during a boating party at Koptos. He had had too much wine, and the Nile was in full flood. His body was recovered miles downstream four days later."
"How do you know?" Khaemwaset asked sharply, with resentment.