"She told me," Hori answered simply, "because I asked her."
Sheritra shuddered. "How dreadful" she exclaimed "Poor Tbubui!"
Khaemwaset gently took her wrist. "So you are going into the city with Harmin tomorrow," he said. The young man had taken him aside earlier and had coolly requested his permission. Khaemwaset had gladly given it. "You must of course take Amek and a soldier with you," he insisted to Sheritra, "and be home in time for dinner."
"Of course I will!" she replied impatiently. "Do not fuss so, Father. Now I will change my linens before we eat." She disengaged herself, shouting for Bakmut, and went into the house. Hori had already wandered off, Antef appearing from the rear garden to meet him. Khaemwaset and Nubnofret looked at each other.
"She is going to fall hard," Khaemwaset said slowly. "I don't know what that young man has said to her, but already she has changed."
"I see it too," Nubnofret agreed. "But I am full of fear for her, my husband. What can he possibly see in her? He is new to Memphis. She is the first girl he has met here. He will discard her when his social life becomes more varied. Sheritra is too sensitive to handle such a crushing rejection."
"As usual, you give her no credit," Khaemwaset responded angrily, feeling as though his wife had attacked Tbubui herself. "Why is it not possible for Harmin to appreciate all the qualities in Sheritra that are not visible? And why do you immediately presume that he is merely dallying and will desert her? Let us at least give both of them the compliment of optimism."
"You always were blind to everyone's faults but mine!" Nubnofret snapped back bitterly, and turning on her heel she stalked away across the darkening lawn, her linen floating wraithlike behind her in the gloom.
By the time they sat down together for the final meal of the day, her anger had lessened to a stiff formality. Khaemwaset deliberately set himself to making her smile, and in the end succeeded. They drank their last cups of wine sitting side by side on the watersteps that still held the warmth of day, knee to knee, watching the barely perceptible flow of the quiet water. In the end, Nubnofret put her head on his shoulder.
For a while he let it rest there, inhaling the aroma of her tumultous hair, loosely holding her hand, but then a mild desire woke in him. "Come," he whispered, and rising he led her in under the tangled shrubbery beside the steps and made love to her.
But as he did so a distaste for his wife began to rise under his sexual urgency, a repugnance for her large, soft breasts, the spread of her ample, pliant hips, the wideness of her generous mouth now parted in pleasure. There was nothing hard, spare, driving about Nubnofret, and by the time Khaemwaset rolled from her and felt the dry grasses and twigs dig into his back, he knew that he would rather have been making love with Tbubui.
SHERITRA TRIED not to break into a run as she saw Harmin smile a greeting from his vantage point in the bow of his barge. For a fleeting moment her defences came up and she wished with all her heart to be safely in her room talking with Bakmut, far away from this sudden complication, this enormous risk. But soon the shrinking was replaced by a feeling of happy recklessness new to her. Forcing her shoulders back she walked towards him with all the grace she could muster, Amek and his soldier behind. Harmin bowed as she negotiated the ramp and she bid him a good morning, thus giving him the freedom to speak. not to break into a run as she saw Harmin smile a greeting from his vantage point in the bow of his barge. For a fleeting moment her defences came up and she wished with all her heart to be safely in her room talking with Bakmut, far away from this sudden complication, this enormous risk. But soon the shrinking was replaced by a feeling of happy recklessness new to her. Forcing her shoulders back she walked towards him with all the grace she could muster, Amek and his soldier behind. Harmin bowed as she negotiated the ramp and she bid him a good morning, thus giving him the freedom to speak.
"Good morning, Princess," he answered her gravely, signalling for the ramp to be drawn inboard. Amek and the other man took up their stations at either end of the craft, and Harmin drew Sheritra towards the cabin.
His family's barge was not as large nor as sumptuous as Khaemwaset's, but it was hung with pennants cut from a cloth of gold on which black Eyes of Horus had been painted. The curtains, tied back, were also cloth of gold, tasselled in silver. Sheritra took the upholstered stool Harmin indicated, watching him covertly as he arranged cushions for himself on the floor, then turned to offer her fresh water and slivers of cold beef marinated in garlic and wine.
He was dressed as simply as his barge, with a plain white kilt hugging his long thighs and stern leather sandals on his feet, but his belt was set with turquoise, as were his thick silver bracelets and the lightly linked pectoral lying against his brown chest. The amulet counterpoise nestled between his flexing shoulder-blades was a row of tiny gold baboons, symbols of Thoth, protecting the wearer from certain spells designed to pierce the victim from behind.
"I have seen the Nile reflecting exactly the colours of your turquoise," Sheritra remarked hesitantly, a shyness on her with the ritual of accepting food and drink. "Those are very old, are they not? So often now the stones available are inferior. They are all blue, not the ancient greenish-blue Father finds so attractive."
Harmin went into a crouch on the cushions and grinned up at her, his kohled eyes glittering. "You are right. They have been in my family for many hentis and they are supremely valuable. They will be passed down to my oldest son."
Sheritra felt her cheeks grow hot. "I thought we were going to walk today," she put in hurriedly, "although drifting on the Nile is a great pleasure." She took a gulp of water and the fire in her face began to ebb.
"We will indeed walk, and perhaps by the end of the day you will beg to be returned to the barge," Harmin teased her. "But I decided to save you the dust and heat of the river road into Memphis. Also, if we find the bazaars overcrowded or boring we can be back on board in a matter of minutes. Look! We are already passing the canal to the old palace of Thothmes the First. I suppose you have been within it many times when your grandfather is in residence at Memphis."
"Why yes, I have," Sheritra began, and before she realized it, she was chatting about Ramses and his court, her father's political contacts, life as a princess. "It is not as wonderful as you might think," she said ruefully. "My daily routine and my education were far more rigidly controlled than that of a daughter of the nobility, and now that I have finished being tortured and you might think I am free, I face the prospect of being eventually betrothed to some hereditary erpa-ha to preserve Ramses family dynasty. I don't mind the idea of being married, of course, but I do mind the certainty that my future husband will not love me. How could he? I look more like a peasant's daughter than a princess!"
Her voice had gradually risen and she had become more and more agitated without realizing it, until Harmin put out a protesting hand and, coming to herself, she understood what she had said. Her hands flew to her face.
"Oh Harmin!" she cried out. "I am so sorry. I have no idea why I am talking to you like this."
"I know why," he said calmly. "There is something about me that made you trust me from the first, isn't there, Little Sun?"
"Only my father calls me that," she said faintly.
"Do you mind if I do?"
She shook her head mutely.
"Good. For I feel that I have known you since my own school-days. I am easy with you, and you with me. I am your friend, Sheritra, and I could wish to be nowhere else today than here beside you with the sun beating on the water and the crowds kicking up sand on the bank."
She was silent, her gaze ostensibly on the things he described while her thoughts played with his words. So far the only man she trusted was her father, and that was because he had earned her respect. The male faces who had appeared and as quickly disappeared from her life had earned nothing but her self-conscious scorn for their vapidity, their refusal to recognize her intelligence, their notquite-hidden contempt for her homeliness. She knew that she was perilously close to such strength of feeling for Harmin that her whole life would be engulfed, and she herself changed. She already respected him for his frankness, the genuine way he had casually dismissed her ex terior as of no account and had touched those chords in her that had so far vibrated only for Khaemwaset.
But friend. What did he mean by friend? Was his interest truly one of sharing minds? Well, it us all you can really hope for, she told herself sadly. But his next words caused her heart to pound.
"Your skin has the translucence of a pearl," he whispered, and she turned abruptly to find his black eyes fixed on her. "Your eyes. are full of life, Princess, full of vitality when you allow your ka to shine through. Please hide no more."
I capitulate, she thought, panic-stricken. My judgment is even now deserting me. But oh Harmin! For Hathor's sake stand steady on the rope! I am giving birth to the self I have fiercely protected all my life, and it is still half-blind and helpless under your strange gaze.
"Thank you, Harmin," she replied steadily, and suddenly flashed him a bright grin. "I will hide no more from you. I care nothing about the rest of Egypt." He laughed and began to wolf down the cold beef, spearing it on a tiny silver-hafted dagger, occasionally holding bites to her mouth, and she, all at once ravenous, could not eat quickly enough.
They tied up at the southern docks on the outskirts of the foreign quarter, and instead of walking back through Peru-nefer to the central city, Harmin turned her south. Sheritra felt a tremor of concern. She had never plunged into this teeming life before, let alone on foot, and she was glad of Amek and his man's comforting bulk ahead and behind. But Harmin, tactfully guiding her with a touch on her elbow now and then and an encouraging smile, did not allow her to be jostled, and soon her fear evaporated.
As they ambled the donkey-choked, noisy streets she began to blossom under the cloak of anonymity and was soon exclaiming over the cascade of various nationalities flowing around her. Hurrians, Canaanites, Syrians, Semites, Dwellers of the Great Green exploded myriad bewildering languages in her ears. The bazaar stalls groaned under cloth of every grade and richness, gaudy jewellery, miniatures of the gods of every nation in every type of wood and stone and household items by the hundreds.
She and Harmin wandered through it all, fingering, laughing, bargaining for fun, until Sheritra suddenly became aware that the human traffic had thinned and the street they were on could now be seen, a short stretch of dazzling whiteness ending in a mud wall and an open gate.
"What is that?" she asked curiously Harmin brushed a smear of dust from her temple.
"It is a shrine to the Canaanite goddess Astarte. Would you like to go in?"
Sheritra stared. "Is it permitted?"
Harmin smiled. "Of course. This is a shrine, not a temple. We may watch the worshippers without having to pray ourselves. I believe Astarte has a mighty temple in Pi-Ramses with many priests and priestesses, but here she has a small staff and the shrine's routine is fairly simple." As he was explaining to her, Harmin was ushering her forward. Together they entered through the open gate, finding themselves in an intimate outer court, unpaved and divided from the even tinier inner court by a waist-high mud wall.
Both courts were crowded with people praying or chanting, but as Sheritra approached the heart of the shrine the cheerful bustle died away. In the respectful space surrounding the statue of the goddess a lone priestess was dancing, finger-cymbals clicking, hair ornaments jangling. She was naked and moved sinuously with eyes closed, thighs flexed, spine arched. Just beyond her was Astarte. Curious, Sheritra looked her over, both attracted and repelled by the full, upthrust breasts, the flaunting curve of the stone belly, the strong spread of the immodest legs that seemed to invite any who dared to stand within them. Sheritra glanced at Harmin, expecting his gaze to be on the dancer, but he was watching her. "Astarte gives the pleasure of orgiastic sex," he told her. "But she is also the goddess of all forms of pure love."
"One would never know it to look at her!" Sheritra responded tartly. "She reminds me of the whores infesting the Peru-nefer district. Our own Hathor is also goddess of love, but with more politeness and somehow more humanity."
"I agree," Harmin answered. "Astarte really has no place in Egypt. She serves cruder, more barbaric races, which is why her shrines cluster in the foreigners' quarters of the cities. Still, she is probably older than Hathor."
"Grandfather has much sympathy for the foreign gods," Sheritra told him as they left the sacred premises. "Because he has red hair and it runs in our family and we come from the home of the god Set, Ramses has made him his chief protector. He is Egyptian, of course, but Grandfather also worships his Canaanite counterpart, Baal, and regularly goes into the foreigner' temples. To me it is wrong."
"To me also," Harmin agreed quietly. "I share your views and those of your father, that Egypt is slowly being debased by the free introduction of so many strangers, both gods and men. Soon Set himself will be confused with Baal, Hathor with Astarte. Then let Egypt beware, for her fall will be near."
Impulsively Sheritra stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. Behind her Amek coughed discreetly. "Thank you for one of the most lovely days I have ever had," she said fervently.
By the time Harmin emerged from the beer-shop with a flagon and four cups, Sheritra had found a small patch of tired grass under the shadow of a wall. Amek and the soldier bowed their thanks and drank quickly, standing up, but Harmin joined Sheritra where she had flung herself down, and for a long while they sipped and talked. The beer was strong and very dark, unlike the paler brew that appeared on her father's table each day, and her head was soon swimming, but the sensation was most agreeable.
Eventually Harmin returned the flagon and cups, helped her to her feet, and they made their way back to the barge and the drowsy sailors. The sun was lipping the horizon, seeping orange-yellow through the dust motes hanging in the air, tinging Sheritra's skin with a golden hue and becoming netted in her hair. She ascended the ramp, almost staggering to the cabin, and sank onto the pile of cushions with a gusty sigh. Her legs ached pleasantly and she was beginning to be hungry. Soon Harmin joined her and the craft slipped away from its mooring and turned to the north. Sheritra sighed again. I feel almost beautiful, she thought happily. I feel carefree and frivolous and full of laughter. She turned to Harmin, who was beating the dust off his kilt and staring ruefully at his filthy feet. "This has been wonderfull!" she said.
He agreed, half laughing, she knew, at her uncharacteristic enthusiasm, but she did not take offence. "Today we did things of my choosing," he said. "Tomorrow I must attend to various duties at home, but the day after you may decide where we go."
Her eyes widened. "You want to spend yet another day with me?"
"Don't be foolish, Princess," he admonished her, and she heard a mild disapproval in his voice. "If I did not want to see you again I would not have suggested it. Is there to be a return to the suspicious Sheritra of old?"
She felt chastened but not insulted. "No, Harmin," she said meekly. "I do not believe that you are dissembling with me. Very well." She folded her hands primly and stared thoughtfully at the sunset-drenched water lapping by. "I know," she said finally. "We will take Father's barge and Amek and Bakmut and float south past the city to the first secluded stretch of river, and we will spend the day swimming and catching frogs, and then we will eat sitting on the bank and then we will hunt duck in the marshes! Yes?"
He glanced down at his smudged kilt. "Alas no," he said sadly. "I cannot swim, Highness. Like my mother, I am afraid of water. I do not mind being on it but no power on earth can coerce me into it." His face came up and Sheritra saw it entirely sombre. "I would enjoy watching you swim, though, and the frogs and ducks, well, I can manage that."
She reached out and stroked the warm, stick-straight hair. "I am sorry," she whispered. "Then I will plan something else, a surprise, and you will not know where we are going until I come for you. Agreed?"
He nodded, seeming still in the grip of some cold thought, but then he smiled. "I have a confession to make to you, Sheritra," Harmin said quietly. "I hope it will not offend you."
Sheritra met the steady dark eyes regarding her own. She had forgotten her self-consciousness, forgotten to remember that the face he was scrutinizing so closely was mildly repugnant to most men and therefore a thing of shame. "You will not know until you try me," she answered and then blushed, aware of the unintended provocativeness of the words, but he either ignored or genuinely did not notice their baser meaning. With a small gesture he took her hand, running his thumb gently over her open palm.
"When I came to beg your father to treat my mother, as I was leaving and was waiting for him, I heard you singing."
Sheritra gave a low exclamation and tried to pull her fingers from his grasp, but he restrained her.
"No, do not recoil," he went on. "I had never heard such a glorious sound. I had intended to go down to the watersteps but I lingered, unable, to move. Such sweetness filled me, Sheritra! I stood there until your father found me, wondering if the beauty of the singer's face matched her tones."
"Well now you know that they do not," Sheritra said curtly. But in spite of her cutting words she searched his expression with a hidden desperation looking for a flicker of insincerity, the well-known, tiny falter of deceit. She did not find it. Harmin's eyebrows descended in a frown.
"Why do you do yourself so much injustice?" he asked. "And how do you know what I regard as beautiful? I will have you know, foolish girl, that I had imagined this singer as a woman of fire and spirit. That, to me, is beauty, and you have both, do you not, under that diffident exterior?"
She looked at him wonderingly. Oh yes! she thought, yes. Fire and spirit I have, Harmin, but I am a long way from betraying myself to you, for I have too much ...
"You have too much pride to show yourself to anyone but your family, don't you?" Harmin smiled. "You fear that you will be repulsed, and your gifts belittled. Will you sing that song again for me now?"
"You ask a great deal of me!"
"I know exactly what I am asking of you," he insisted. "Courage. Now will you sing?"
For answer she sat straighter and willed herself not to blush. Her first notes were hesitant, and her voice cracked once, but soon her confidence began to flow and the ancient, sensuous words carried clear and sure across the river. "'Your love, I desire it, like butter and honey. You belong to me, like best ointment on the limbs of the nobles, like finest linen ...'" She sang only the woman's part of the song, omitting the lover's response, and she was startled when Harmin broke in softly, "'My companionship will be for all the days, satisfying even for old age. I shall be with you every day, that I may give you my love always.'"
Both fell silent, then Harmin left the stool, lowered himself onto the cushion beside her and, taking her face in both his warn hands, he kissed her gently on the mouth. Her first impulse was to panic. She wanted to struggle, pull away, but his lips were so unthreatening, tasting of dust and beer, and their pressure did not increase, so that in the end the tension went out of her and she put both hands on his smooth shoulders and kissed him back. When they drew apart she saw his eyes somnolent with desire. "Little Sun," he murmured. "I am greatly looking forward to the day after tomorrow. My horoscope told me that my luck would be phenomenally high this month and lo! here I am beside you."
Sheritra smiled shakily, afraid that he might kiss her again, but she was coming to recognize his almost uncanny intuition regarding her needs. He scrambled to his feet, regaining the stool and began regaling her with stories of his life in Koptos. Once at her watersteps, he thanked her with formal grace for her company, placed her in Amek's care and disappeared into the cabin, twitching the curtains closed behind him. Sheritra had time to be bathed and to don her most feminine gown before sweeping in to dinner with her chin held high.
8.
I am strong as Thoth, I am as mighty as Atum, I walk with my legs, I speak with my mouth in order to seek out my foe.
He has been given to me and he shall not be taken from me.
HORI HAD SLEPT HORI HAD SLEPTunusually late that same morning. He had planned to rise with Ra and join Antef on the river for some fishing before going to the tomb site. His body servant had dutifully roused him an hour before the dawn, but before the man was out of the room, Hori had dropped into a bottomless pit of unconsciousness again, emerging four hours later disgruntled and out of sorts.
He took his time eating in bed, calling for the harpist to soothe his agitation while he forced bread, butter and fresh fruit into his mouth, and by the time he stood on the raised stone of the bathing house having scented water trickled over his body, he felt almost himself again. Almost. If his father had cast the horoscopes he would have been able to consult his and thus plan a day that had undeniably begun badly, but as it was, all he could do was take some sensible precautions. I will not do my archery practice today, he thought as the servant wrapped a kilt about his waist and held his jewels for selection. Better to stay away from sharp instruments. Neither will I go out in the chariot with Antef later. I will dictate some letters, look over the latest work from the tomb and then while away the rest of the afternoon talking to Sheritra in the garden. He pointed absently at a silver-and-carnelian pectoral and a couple of plain silver bracelets chased with scarabs, and the man pushed them over his unco-operative hands. I wish I could remember what I dreamt, his thoughts ran on. Then it could be interpreted and perhaps the day salvaged. Ah well. I have neglected my prayers of late. Antef, if he has forgiven me, can open my shrine and prostrate himself beside me before I do anything else. But upon his enquiry his body servant told him that Antef had gone into the city on several errands that demanded his personal attention and would not be back for hours.
Hori immediately gave up the idea of praying. He sat beside his couch and for a time dictated letters to various friends in the Delta, his ailing grandmother, and his fellow priests of Ptah who were doing their active service for the god in the great temple at Pi-Ramses. He then riffled through the ongoing work of the artists labouring to copy the scenes in the tomb, but the thought of the tomb made him irritable. What is the matter with me? he thought for the hundredth time. I will find Father and ask him about Sisenet's theory, see if he wants to knock down that wall. But Khaemwaset was closeted with a patient and Ib advised Hori not to wait for him. The undercurrent of restless frustration that had been simmering under the young man's usually sunny calm became a flood of annoyance, and he ordered out a skiff and oars. Refusing an armed escort he ran down the watersteps, flung himself into the graceful little craft and began to pull himself down river.
The day was very hot. Summer was advancing with the inexorable tread all feared, and Hori, bent over the oars and cursing under his breath, was soon bathed in sweat that ran into his eyes and rendered his hands slippery on the wood. The river was drying up slowly. Already its level had dropped appreciably from the previous month, and the water had begun to acquire the thick, oily texture of its lowest ebb. It flowed reluctantly in the direction Hori was going, but he strained every muscle he could, trying to work away his mood.
When he stopped briefly to mop his face and tie back the hair that was sticking to his cheeks, he was surprised to see that he had almost rowed himself past the northern suburbs. What now? he wondered. Shall I turn back? But he decided to go just a little farther, and set to again, though his shoulders ached and his legs protested. Father won't like me to be out without a soldier, or Antef at least, he said to himself. It is rather foolish. I should at least have the royal colours flying somewhere on the skiff, so that these damned fellahin crowding the river do not shout and swear at me as I get in their way. If I pull for the eastern bank the traffic will be lighter.
He veered in that direction, rowing grimly, and had just decided to turn around, go home and order a heket of beer to drink in the garden when he glanced automatically behind him and saw Tbubui emerge from the very small cabin of a skiff little bigger than his own and step onto the land. Immediately his foul mood began to lift. Here was someone who could take him out of himself. Quickly he manoeuvered his craft towards the bank, shipping the oars and calling out, "Tbubui! It is I, Hori, son of Khaemwaset! Is this where you live?"
At his shout she paused and turned, seemingly not at all startled to be addressed in such a way. Hori's skiff nudged her narrow watersteps and he scrambled to stand beside her. She was wearing a short, loose, one-shouldered sheath that left one breast bare, a fashion not favoured for many years, but after a surreptitious glance, Hori realized that the unclothed breast was hidden by a waist-length white gauzy cape. She was unshod. Gold anklets tinkled as she stepped back, smiling a greeting; "Why, it is young Hori!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing rowing in this heat? Come into the house and I will have a servant wash you. You are in a lather!"
He grinned, feeling foolish and irrationally annoyed that she had called him "young." He saw himself at a complete disadvantage. "Thank you," he answered, "but I can just as easily turn my skiff around and go home. I row often to strengthen my arms for the bow and my legs for the chariot."
She ran an appraising eye over his sweat-drenched thighs and calves. "The exercise is obviously most efficacious," she commented drily. "Do come and keep me company for an hour or two. My brother is away today and Harmin is rambling the city with Sheritra."
Why so he is. I had forgotten, Hori thought. So I will be alone with her. Somehow I don't think that Father would approve, but the prospect of a wash and some refreshments on this abominable day is most attractive. Besides, she will be entertaining. He bowed his acceptance and they mounted the steps together and started along the cool, palm-lined path to the white house that had so captivated Khaemwaset. I must stink, Hori thought as he tried to follow her light conversation through his embarrassment, and here she is floating beside me, her linens so pristine, her perfume like a cloud surrounding her. Myrrh, I think, and something else, something ...
"Welcome to my home," she said, and stood back to do him a formal reverence as he went in The coolness rushed to meet him and immediately his spirits began to rise A servant came padding on smooth, silent feet, and Tbubui bade Hori go with him. "He is Harmin's body servant," she explained. "He will attend you in his room, and find you a kilt while your own is being washed. When you are ready he will escort you to the garden." She left him without waiting for his thanks, and he followed the servant, looking curiously around the bare, whitewashed walls of hall and passage.
He was not as addicted to peace and quiet as his father, nor did he dismiss every new fashion in furnishing and domestic decoration, but the starkness of this house appealed to the solitary in him. He unconsciously breathed more deeply as he turned in through a plain cedar door and found himself facing a large couch marked at one end by a headrest of creamy ivory, a cedar bedside table inlaid with ivory on which stood a fat alabaster lamp, a jewel box, a wooden wine cup and, flung between them, an ostrich fan with a silver handle. An empty brazier huddled in one corner, and three plain tiring chests were lined up against one wall. A closed shrine stood on a pedestal beside the incense holder.
The room was thus crowded, but Hori received the impression of great space and stillness. He could detect nothing of Harmin's personality in this place. Silently the servant opened a tiring box, selected a freshly starched kilt and a leather belt, laid them on the couch and came to Hori. He removed the sweat-stained garment, slipped off his leather sandals, lifted his jewels from him, then beckoned. Hori gave a nod and followed. To the bath house, I suppose, Hori thought, secretly amused at the man's efficient muteness.
Some time later he emerged, refreshed, and walked across the small square of lawn to where his hostess was waiting, leaning back in a chair, swathed in a voluminous white linen cloak. Hori was disappointed. He had vaguely hoped that she might be still in the short sheath but without the pleated cape. The garment she now wore was tied at the neck with a white ribbon and fell to the grass in undisciplined profusion, a startling contrast to the raven blackness of her hair and the bronze of her face and hands.
The garden itself was remarkable in that, after the lawn and the miniature pond and a few flower beds, it was given over to the haphazard forest of tall palms. Tbubui sat beneath one of them, protected by its spindly shadow. Hori felt that if he shouted his voice might echo among the pillared trunks. Tbubui waved him over.
"That's better," she observed. "You share Harmin's build. His kilt looks well on you. I hope it is comfortable while your own is being laundered." She patted the empty chair beside her. "Sit next to me, or on the mat if you prefer." Her manner seemed slightly patronizing to Hori, and as he took the chair he thought, I am not your son. Neither am I a child. Don't treat me like one! She reached to the camp table between them. "Wine or beer?" she inquired. Hori watched the cloak slide open to reveal a length of shapely brown arm adorned with one very wide, heavy silver bracelet gripping her wrist. Her palm was hennaed a brilliant orange. Hori, indeed all the nobility, hennaed his palms and the soles of his feet in either red or orange, but on this woman the practice struck him suddenly as barbaric, exotic.
"Beer, thank you, Tbubui," he said. "I worked up a terrible thirst on the river!"
She poured for him, handed him the cup, then wriggled into the chair, drawing her knees up sideways. The movement was lithe and girlish without being coy. How old are you? Hori wondered to himself as he drained the cup and held it out to be refilled. Sometimes you seem merely a child and at other times your beauty is ageless.
"You have a wonderful family, Prince," Tbubui was saying. "The daunting formality of a blood prince's home is tempered perfectly by the warmth and humour of its members. We have been honoured by your family's attention."
"My father is less a prince of the blood than an historian and physician," Hori answered, "and he was delighted to discover similar interests in you and your brother."
"Do you share them yourself?" she queried. "I know that you share his historical projects, but do you assist him with his medical cases?"
"No. I do not really care about that," Hori told her, somehow embarrassed to meet her eyes. His gaze travelled the S-curve of her buttocks, thighs and knees under the softly heaping linen cloak. "I do enjoy Father's work of restoration, for I have journeyed with him all over Egypt, and I must confess I am excited over each tomb opened, but I do not regard the work as obsessively as he does. Often he will put it before his obligations to Pharaoh." Immediately he felt disloyal, and held up a hand. "I did not mean that," he corrected himself quickly. "Pharaoh orders and my father obeys, of course. I mean that though he obeys he sometimes does so reluctantly, particularly if he is in the middle of some crucial piece of ancient translation or about to actually penetrate a tomb." You had better be quiet, he told himself desperately. You are digging this hole deeper and deeper. But Tbubui was smiling across at him. A bead of purple wine hung trembling on her lower lip, and as he raised his eyes to hers he saw her tongue come out and slowly lick her mouth. Her own eyes did not leave his face.
"And the tomb he has most recently penetrated," she prodded him encouragingly. "Is he obsessed about it also?"
Hori spread his arms, the beer slopping perilously. "He was very excited about it at first," he said, "but later he made many excuses not to come to the site. He would not even look at the work the artists were doing for him, copying scenes. I sometimes wonder if he has some secret fear about the place. I have been doing all the organizing." He grimaced, deprecatingly. "This wall, the one your brother and I tapped," he went on. "I am very curious about it, but I do not want to bring up the subject with Father for fear he will refuse to let me make a hole in it."
"Then why ask him?" Tbubui said, and when Hori's eyebrows shot up she waved a dismissive hand at her words. "No no, Prince! I am not inciting you to disobey your father. But it seems to me that the project may be swallowing more time and effort than he is really willing to give, that he is stretching himself too thinly among his duties, and that is why you find it difficult to lure him to the site as often as you would wish. Think about it. If you went ahead and opened up the sealed chamber you obviously believe is there, you would be saving him the trouble of an annoying decision and the bother of overseeing the work." She shifted, slowly extending her legs and letting them find the grass below. The cloak did not follow. Spellbound, Hori found himself staring at an expanse of golden skin that gleamed with an almost glossy patina. And was there not the suspicion of a dark triangle where her loins vanished under the bunched cloak? "As you said," she went on kindly, "you are the one doing all the work this time, yet he is the one making all the decisions Who knows? He might be proud of a son who can take the initiative occasionally, particularly if he trusts your judgment."
"Oh he trusts my judgment," Hori answered thoughtfully, wrenching his attention back to her face "I will think about what you have said, Tbubui. I would certainly be very disappointed if I sought his permission to open that chamber only to have it withheld."
"Then do not ask him. And if he is angry, tell him that I, Tbubui, corrupted the pure obedience a son owes his father and his wrath must fall on me!" She spoke lightly and then laughed, and he laughed also, all at once happy to be in this garden, in the heat of a dazzling afternoon, sitting beside a woman whose wit and strange beauty attracted him in a way no one had ever done before.