Scroll Of Saqqara Part 7

Khaemwaset went into his library, unlocked the box where he kept his medicaments and drew out a leather satchel containing dressings and other things he often needed for his patients. His head buzzed with the demand to be laid on a pillow and his eyes were scratchy. Quickly he re-locked the box and followed Harmin.

Ib was sitting on his stool in the pa.s.sage. He rose. "Shall I come with you, Prince?" he asked.

"No," Khaemwaset answered. "I do not need you for this one, Ib. But I will take Amek."

There was no sign of Harmin in the hallway. Khaemwaset found him waiting just within the shade cast by the row of coloured-splashed pillars at the front entrance to the house. He was standing motionless, arms loose at his sides, head slightly inclined towards the sound that was floating over the rows of thick shrubbery that helped to separate the paved pathway from the rear gardens.

Khaemwaset halted in shock. The voice of Sheritra, high and pure, was filling the hot air. She seldom sang and when she did it was almost always children's verses, but today the words of an ancient love song pierced Khaemwaset to the heart. "Your love, I desire it like b.u.t.ter and honey. You belong to me like best ointment on the limbs of n.o.bles, like finest linen on the limbs of the G.o.ds, like incense before the Lord of All ..."

Harmin half turned towards Khaemwaset. "That is a beautiful voice," he commented.

"Yes it is," Khaemwaset responded shortly. Sheritra would have been embarra.s.sed and ashamed if she had known of her audience. He jerked his head at Harmin and began to walk towards the river. "From which direction did you come?" he asked. "Where is your house?"

"Beyond the northern suburbs," Harmin replied, now at Khaemwaset's side. "I took a skiff across the river and then walked, Highness. It was a fine morning."

Nothing more was said. Khaemwaset invited the young man aboard his barge, Amek and a soldier following, and the captain gave the order to cast off. At this time of the day the Nile traffic was spa.r.s.e. Those who could were taking the afternoon rest and the watersteps of the n.o.bles were deserted. He had presumed for some reason that his patient would live in one of them, although he knew the majority of their inhabitants personally. But Harmin gave no sign that they should veer towards the bank.

The river road appeared, almost empty of travellers. Those compelled to be on it were quiet in the heat, and the barge drifted beside it like a mote of dust falling along a sunbeam. The river's surface was gla.s.sy and almost still.

They pa.s.sed the bridged ca.n.a.l near where Khaemwaset had seen that d.a.m.nable flash of scarlet, but the scuffed road was now empty. There were a few respectable homes, modest but neat, fronting the west side of the road and surrounded by fields of tall grain, then there was nothing but crops, drooping in the heat, and the water poured rhythmically into the thin, hacked irrigation ca.n.a.ls that fed them as the fellahin lowered the shaduf buckets on their long wooden arms into the Nile and hauled on the ropes to raise them to the level of the ca.n.a.ls that criss-crossed the fields.

Khaemwaset thought of his daughter and the secret, painful places of her soul. If anyone deserves to be loved it is she, he thought sadly. She must have been alone in the garden, for even Bakmut is not allowed to hear her sing.

Just then Harmin stirred and pointed. "Prince, please tell your captain to begin to tack towards the bank," he said. "Those watersteps, there." He was indicating the east bank, not the west, where there was little human habitation and the vegetation clung to a miserably small strip of land before the desert took over. Khaemwaset had never paid it much attention. But indeed a set of very small watersteps led up from the river into a grove of palm trees, and Khaemwaset glimpsed a smudge of white wall far beyond. He shouted a command and the barge began its ponderous sweep.

The house was indeed isolated. Between it and the mud sprawl of homes where the managers of the fields lived and worked for their aristocratic masters there must have been half a mile in each direction. Palms straggled along the bank, it was true, and one could easily miss their sudden cl.u.s.ter if one was not looking for it.

The watersteps had one mooring pole from which white paint was peeling. The barge nudged it, a sailor jumped out to secure the trailing ropes and Khaemwaset rose. Signalling to Amek, he invited Harmin to precede them, and without another word Harmin led them up the steps and along a dirt path that meandered happily through the dappling shade of the trees whose tall, smooth trunks smelled sweet and whose stiff fronds whispered high overhead.

The house was nestled in a small clearing. Khaemwaset noted at once that it had been fas.h.i.+oned of mud bricks, and seemed to lean into its environment with perfect harmony. The white-painted plaster with which it had been surfaced was missing in places. Five or six workmen were busy with fresh plaster and whitewash. Harmin apologized. "The house had been vacant and uncared for before we moved in," he explained. "Mud is a good substance for the construction of a house, but it needs constant maintenance."

I know of no n.o.bles who would dare to live in a mud home like a peasant, Khaemwaset thought, intrigued. Not nowadays. If any of my friends or family had bought this property they would have torn down the construction immediately and ordered cedar from Lebanon, sandstone and granite from a.s.suan, gold from Nubia, to build something they considered suitable There is mystery here.

But he liked what he saw as they approached the entrance. He knew how cool mud bricks kept a house, and sure enough a slight draught of refres.h.i.+ng air came funnelling out to greet him from the small reception hall.

Harmin turned and bowed. "Welcome, Great Prince," he said. He clapped his hands and a servant appeared, barefoot and clad only in a loincloth. "Would you like some wine or beer and perhaps a shat cake before you see my mother?"

Khaemwaset was quickly surveying the hall-the square, doorless opening to the pa.s.sage beyond, the large, plain tiling under his feet. He was aware, as though a healing balm was stealing over him, that a comfortable silence reigned. The constant dull rumble of life that burgeoned on the west bank could not be heard. No neighbours disturbed this blessed peace with music or laughter. Even the low, light voice of the palms did not seem to penetrate. He felt himself loosening, all tension leaving his stomach, his shoulders.

Harmin had not missed Khaemwaset's appraisal. He gestured around the room. "As you can see, we follow the old ways," he told him, "and we do not apologize to anyone for doing so, Prince."

It was as though he had read Khaemwaset's mind. The walls were white but painted carefully with Nile scenes, desert animals and representations of the G.o.ds. Each scene was divided from the others by a painted date palm running from floor to blue-tinged ceiling. Cus.h.i.+ons were piled in the corners. Three chairs of aromatic cedar, spindle-legged and delicate, ribbed in gold, stood about, and one long, low table of the same design on which stood a plain alabaster unguent jar for the anointing of guests and a clay vase that held thickly bunched late spring blooms. Two incense stands, stern in their rising simplicity, had been placed to either side of the inner doorway, and in niches beside them Amun and Thoth resided, the gold of their bodies gleaming dully in the pleasing, cool dimness.

Here there was no fussiness, nothing overly ornate, nothing imported. Even the air, carrying faintly the mixed odour of lotus flowers and myrrh, seemed completely Egyptian. Khaemwaset drew it into his nostrils with a deep breath. "No thank you, Harmin," he smiled. "I will see your mother first. Amek, come with me as far as her chamber. Set your guard at this door."

He saw Harmin's glance flick over Amek's bulk before the young man turned to the rear. Khaemwaset followed, his satchel in hand. I could live in this place forever, he thought as the feeling of well-being in him expanded. What work I could do! What dreams I could dream! But it might be dangerous. Oh yes, it might. I would gradually discard my duties to my father, to my Egypt, and sink into the past like a flower cast upon the bosom of the Nile. What kind of people are these?

The pa.s.sage was narrow, dark and utterly plain. But at the farther end the brilliance of the afternoon cut the darkness in shafts like knives, and Khaemwaset could see a small rectangle of lawn, a few flowerbeds in a busy array of colours, and a pond choked with waxy white and pink lotus over which bees hovered. Harmin turned abruptly to his left, stood aside and bowed. "Mother, the Prince Khaemwaset," he said. "Highness, this is my mother Tbubui."

Khaemwaset entered the room with the usual words of rea.s.surance ready on his lips. She had injured her foot. She would not be able to rise and reverence him, as the little dancer had tried to do. Strange, he thought, strange that she should come to mind just now. He was about to speak, to tell this woman not to try and move, when he heard Amek draw a quick breath behind him. It was a tiny sound, come and gone in a second, but Khaemwaset simultaneously halted. He felt the blood leave his face. The white walls of the pleasant room wavered and he fought to keep his control. He was aware of Amek's comforting presence at his rear, Harmin's grey eyes on him with what was surely bewilderment, his own fingers gripping the satchel as though he would die if he dropped it, then he recovered and managed to move forward.

"Greetings, Tbubui," he said, and marvelled that he could sound so sane.

The woman was sitting in a large chair beside a couch draped in glistening sheets, her leg propped up on cus.h.i.+ons above a stool. Both bare, languid arms were draped loosely over the wooden rests, and heavy silver rings winked at him from her slender fingers. She was smiling at him above a jumble of white linen-sheet or cloak he did not know which-her hennaed mouth curving, her black, kohled eyes regarding him steadily. Black, black, he thought dazedly, and her hair black as night, black as soot against those exquisite collar-bones, black as the anger she conjured in me the last time I saw her on the Memphis river road, striding scarlet through the crowd. I have found her. No wonder my servants could not, with her living on the east bank!

But no. He moved towards her cautiously, as though at a sharp movement her image might s.h.i.+ver and disappear. I did not find her. Fate found her for me and cast me on her sh.o.r.e like a drowning sailor vomited onto a stretch of sand. Does she recognize me? Amek? Surely Amek! He saw her level gaze transferred to the Captain of his Bodyguard then back to him. The smile widened, and Khaemwaset was suddenly terrified to hear the sound of her voice.

"Greetings, Prince, and welcome to my home," she said. "I am honoured indeed that you should choose to come and examine me in person, and I apologize for any inconvenience I may be causing you." The voice was cultured, well-modulated, a voice accustomed to giving orders, greeting guests and entertaining visitors. Khaemwaset wondered what it would sound like throaty with pa.s.sion. Setting down his satchel and bending over her foot, he clenched his jaw and forced himself to reply. She had a very faint accent. So did her son, now he came to think about it, but it was not any of the accents of foreigners he knew.

"I am not inconvenienced," he said. "Harmin told me of your efforts to cure yourself, and I could then do no more than come and a.s.sist you." He began to unwrap the bandages around the foot, willing his hands not to tremble. In a moment I shall touch her flesh, he thought. Control yourself, physician! This is a patient! His lungs were full of her perfume, a light but musky hint of myrrh blended with something he could not identify. He kept his gaze on the unwinding.

At last the bandage fell to the floor and Khaemwaset forced himself not to hesitate. Gently he pressed the swollen, purple flesh around a mound that did not in fact appear to be infected but that certainly, though dry, had not closed. Her skin was cool, almost cold. "There is no infection here," he announced, looking up at her from his squatting position. "You have no burning in the groin?"

"None. Harmin was perhaps overzealous in his efforts to persuade you to come, Highness. I am sorry. But the wound will not in fact close."

She pushed her hair behind her small ears with both hands, and Khaemwaset saw that she was wearing a pair of heavy silver-and-turquoise earrings fas.h.i.+oned into the shape of two ankhs and hung with tiny scarabs. The sight of the scarabs reminded him of the trouble he had gone to in order to avert the spell of the nonsensical scroll, and the night he had spent in Nubnofret's bed, negating his protection without a second thought.

"How long has it been like this?" he asked. She shrugged, and the linen slipped down her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, revealing the tantalizing shadow of a cleavage.

"For about two weeks. I soak the foot twice a day and have it poulticed in a mixture of milk, honey and ground incense to dry it up, but as you can see ..." She gestured along her leg, and Khaemwaset felt the tips of her fingers brush his helmet. "... my treatment is not efficacious."

That state of the flesh puzzled Khaemwaset. Its colour suggested tissue that no longer lived. "I think I must take needle and thread and sew this," he said at last, rising. "It will hurt, Tbubui, but I can give you an infusion of poppy to help quell the pain."

"Very well," she said almost indifferently. "It is my own fault, of course. I go barefoot too much."

Bare heels, Khaemwaset thought again. Nubnofret walking ahead of me in the pa.s.sage on the night Sheritra had her bad dream. You, Tbubui, barefoot in your white, old-fas.h.i.+oned sheath, taunting... Surely you recognized Amek!

He had brought with him everything he needed. He asked for fire, and when it was brought in a tiny burner he prepared the poppy infusion. Tbubui watched him in silence as he worked in the odd, enveloping stillness of this extraordinary house.

When it was ready he handed it to her and she drank it obediently. He waited for it to take effect, and selected needle and thread.

Harmin had long since gone, and Amek had taken his position by the doorway. Khaemwaset sensed his resentment though he did not move. This was the woman for whom his master had struck him.

Khaemwaset forced himself to concentrate on the task in hand. Carefully and neatly he sewed the gash closed. Tbubui neither flinched nor groaned. Once he looked up from his artistry to find her eyes on him, not dazed from the poppy but alert and full of something he thought he read as humour, but of course it could not be. He continued, in the end wrapping fresh linen about her foot and instructing her to go on applying the poultice. "I will return in a few days to inspect it, and then we will see," he said. She nodded, quite composed. "I have a great resistance to pain," she replied, "and also, unfortunately, to the poppy. Now, Prince. Will you take wine with me?" He nodded and she clapped her hands sharply once. A servant glided into the room, and while she was ordering a chair brought forward and jar of wine opened, Khaemwaset for the first time looked about her chamber.

It was small and cool, the walls unadorned. One table supporting a lamp stood by the couch, which in contrast to the rest of the surroundings was high and lavishly gilded. It was piled with pillows and a-tumble with sheets. Khaemwaset looked away, a dozen questions beginning to reel through his head. Is your husband here? What are you doing in Memphis? Did you know that it was I who sent Amek after you? And did you in turn send Harmin after me? Why? The wine and the chair arrived. He sank into it gratefully and picked up his cup, wondering how he might bring up these things, but she forestalled him.

"I have a confession to make to you, Prince," she said. "I recognized your bodyguard the moment he stepped into the room, and then of course I knew who it was who had sent me such an impudent invitation through his mouth." Khaemwaset flushed and forced himself to meet her now mocking smile. Impudent. He felt like a chastised child.

"I refused it, naturally," she went on, sobering, "and although I was momentarily complimented, I thought no more about it. Then I injured myself. You are the best physician in Egypt ..." She shrugged as though admitting an embarra.s.sing foolishness. "I remembered the incident only when your man walked into my room. I am sorry for my rudeness."

Khaemwaset immediately protested. "Your rudeness! It is I who must apologize to you. I have never before done such an impulsive thing but, you see, I had caught glimpses of you in the market, in the temple of Ptah. I set up a search but could not find you. My intentions ..."

She raised a hand, palm out. "The intentions of a son of Pharaoh and the mightiest prince of the land are above reproach," she finished for him. "I have heard that you are not only a student of history, Highness, but an admirer of the ancient moral codes. If the guard had identified you I should have turned aside to greet you. I too am a wistful dweller in Egypt's past and I would have been delighted to talk with you on certain matters. As it is, I can only thank you for your forbearance today."

She was gracious, slightly shamed, her undeniable magnetism subdued by a pretty anxiety to be forgiven and understood. Khaemwaset wanted to stroke the hands that had fallen and were clasped in her lap, to soothe and rea.s.sure her.

"I would like to make up for my insensitivity," he said. "I invite you to dine with my family in two weeks' time. Please say you will come. Bring Harmin, and of course your husband." Her eyes narrowed in a smile though her mouth remained still.

"I am a widow," she explained, and Khaemwaset fought an urge to swallow. "My husband died some years ago. Harmin and I live with my brother, Sisenet. He went into the city earlier but should be back by now. Would your Highness care to meet him?" Khaemwaset nodded. Tbubui looked towards the door. "Harmin, find your uncle," she asked, and Khaemwaset realized that the beautiful young man had at some time noiselessly re-entered the room and was standing just inside, arms folded and feet apart in the stance of a guardian. Khaemwaset wondered a little uncomfortably how long he had been there and what he had heard.

Harmin slipped away at once. Khaemwaset sipped his wine, enjoying the excellent vintage. He commented on it to Tbubui and she smiled.

"Your Highness has a discriminating palate," she observed. "It is Good Wine of the Western River, year five."

"Of my father's reign?"

She hesitated. "Indeed."

That made the wine twenty-eight years old. It must have cost Tbubui or her brother a small fortune in gold, unless they had had it stored somewhere since Ramses' fifth year. That was the more likely explanation. Good Wine was still the best and most popular among the n.o.bles, even, he supposed, in faraway Koptos. He savoured it carefully.

Before long Harmin returned. With him was a short, spare man, thin of face and with his sister's grace of movement. Unlike his nephew, Sisenet's head had been shaved and he wore a simple wig trailing one white ribbon.

Khaemwaset, sitting waiting for the man's reverence, had the distinct impression that they had met before somewhere. It was not that he and Tbubui shared the same shape to their dark eyes or the same pleasing quirk to their mouths. Khaemwaset, watching Sisenet approach with body bent and arms outstretched in the traditional gesture of submission and respect, thought that the feeling of recognition came from some entirely different occasion, then dismissed it. He bade the man straighten, and met his cautious gaze. His whole mien, though welcoming, projected a mildly suspicious reserve that Khaemwaset believed he must carry with him at all times. Khaemwaset spoke first, as was customary given his higher rank.

"I am pleased to meet you, Sisenet. I admire your house very much, and envy you its singular calm. Please sit."

The man sank into a cross-legged position facing him and Tbubui. He smiled slowly. "Thank you, Highness. We prefer our privacy to the excitement of the city, though we sometimes take the skiff across the river. May I ask how my sister's injury is progressing?"

They talked for a while until Khaemwaset had finished the wine, then he rose to leave. Sisenet immediately came to his feet. "I shall expect all of you at dinner in two weeks," Khaemwaset repeated, "but before then I shall return and check on your wound, Tbubui. Thank you for your hospitality." Harmin showed him out, walking beside him through the now dusky palms to the watersteps and bidding him an affable good night.

He was shocked to see how much time had gone by since he had climbed this same stair. The sun had already set behind Memphis and was limning the pyramids that crowded the high plain of Saqqara in blade-sharp relief. The Nile's surface had lost depth and now reflected a dark blue, almost black sky. Dinner would already be under way at home. "Have the sailors light the torches," he ordered Amek, and stood leaning against the deck rails as the barge cleared the watersteps and beaded for the western bank. He was all at once very tired in mind as well as body. He felt as though he had run a dozen miles under a hot sun in the cloying sand of the desert, or had spent the afternoon reading a long and particularly difficult scroll.

I have found her, he told himself, but he was too fatigued to conjure the triumph that should have accompanied the thought. She is no disappointment. She is not loud-mouthed and common, or arrogant and cold, but an intelligent and polite n.o.blewoman. In some ways she reminds me of Sheritra. The sound of his daughter's voice came back to him, plaintive and appealing, but now it seemed to embody a curious wildness, as though, while she sang gently, Sheritra had been gyrating and writhing in a courtesan's dance. Khaemwaset leaned more heavily against the gilded handrail and wanted to go to sleep.

He strode into his dining room full of apologies, but Nubnofret waved him to his table with an imperious gesture. The three of them had finished two courses and were beginning the third, while Khaemwaset's harpist played. His wife put down the fish she had been raising to her mouth and swirled her fingers in the waterbowl.

"Don't be silly, dearest," she expostulated. "Ib told me that you had been called out to see a patient. You look terribly tired. Sit down and eat." Suddenly he was ravenous. Swiftly he pulled his table against his knees, pushed aside the wreath of blooms waiting for him to wear and signalled for food.

"Well?" Nubnofret prompted as he began to pull his salad apart. "Was the case interesting?"

"They seldom are anymore, are they, Father?" Hori broke in. "I think you have examined every disease and variety of accident possible in Egypt."

"That's true," Khaemwaset admitted. "No, Nubnofret, the case was not interesting, a wounded foot, but the people were." He concentrated on the food, chewing it and manipulating his bowl so that he had an excuse not to look at her. "The man, his sister and her son have recently moved here from Koptos of all places. They are obviously of n.o.ble birth; in fact they trace their line beyond the time of Osiris Hatshepsut. The sister has an interest in history and I have invited them to dine with us in a couple of weeks." All at once he realized that Tbubui had chatted to him and her brother without the slightest indication of the pain she must have been in following the surgery. She had smiled, even laughed, her foot motionless on the stool and swathed in fresh linen. She either felt little, as she had told him, or she was able to hide it extremely well, knowing that good manners dictated the full entertainment of a guest of his lineage. You fool, he told himself, contrite. You should have taken your leave immediately, not stayed to slurp wine, however fine, and make polite conversation. It was up to you to walk away, not them to dismiss you.

"To dine?" Nubnofret echoed him. "That is not like you, Khaemwaset. They must have made an impression indeed, to be accorded such an honour."

He now trusted himself to look up. "They did."

"In that case, give me three days' warning. Sheritra, sit straight! Your back is as hunched as a monkey's."

The girl obeyed automatically. Her eyes were on her father, and Khaemwaset felt their keenness before she dropped her gaze to her plate once more.

Hori began a conversation to do with the plans for his tomb. He had begun to design it early as every Egyptian should. Nubnofret, after a time, changed the subject to the renovation of the kitchens. Khaemwaset joined in easily and the meal ended cheerfully. Nubnofret excused herself. Hori went to seek Antef. Sheritra, who had said little, stirred on her cus.h.i.+ons but made no move to leave. The servants removed her table and Khaemwaset's and he, seeing her abstract mood, signalled that the harpist should continue to play.

"Have you had a happy day?" he asked her.

"Certainly, Father," she replied. "I have been particularly lazy though. Bakmut went into the city to run some errands for me and I fell asleep in the garden, then I had a swim. Who was your patient today?"

Khaemwaset inwardly cursed her question. Fleetingly he begun to compose a lie, then discarded it. "I think you can guess," he answered quietly.

She uncrossed her legs and rearranged her linens, then fell to playing with her gold earring, twisting it round and round, her head on one side. "Really?" she said. "How extraordinary! The woman you seek is placed at your feet like an unexpected gift."

Her choice of words made Khaemwaset uncomfortable, guilty. "It was indeed a strange occurrence," he responded awkwardly.

"And were you disappointed?" She could not disguise the hope in her voice.

"Not at all," Khaemwaset said grimly. "She is lovely, gracious, and well-bred."

"And coming to dinner." Sheritra let go the earring. "Is that wise?" Then when he did not reply she burst out, "Oh Father, I wish you wouldn't! I really wish you wouldn't!"

It would do no good, Khaemwaset knew, to pretend that he did not know what she meant, and to do so would be insulting. Her homely face was flushed, her eyes unnaturally bright with concern. "I do not think you have anything to fear," he said deliberately, kindly. "I do not deny to you, Sheritra, that I am almost irresistibly drawn to her, but between a wish and its fulfillment are many decisions, many choices. I have already done the right thing in the eyes of the G.o.ds and within the confines of Ma'at. I shall doubtless do so this time." He did not realize for a moment that he was lying on both counts.

"Is she married?" Sheritra asked a little more calmly, though her colour remained high.

"She is a widow." Khaemwaset found it very difficult to hold her gaze. "You know that I could offer her a contract of marriage if I wished, my dearest, and put her in separate quarters on the estate with her son, but I don't think she is the kind of woman who would resign herself to the position of Second Wife. Whatever happens, your mother's wellbeing is my first concern."

"So you feel that strongly about her?"

He was immediately irritated. "I have seen her four times and only talked with her once! How do I know?"

She looked away, her hands now restless. "I have upset you, Father," she said. "I am sorry."

He was silent. Presently she got up clumsily, shook back her hair and walked out with as much dignity as she could muster. The music of the harp continued to trill and flutter through the lamplit room.

He gave Nubnofret her three days' notice and was standing above the watersteps with Ib and Amek in plenty of time to greet his guests when they arrived. He wondered if they would disembark hesitantly, climb the stair with the reluctance of the momentarily overawed, but their small craft hove into sight, was challenged by his river guard, tied up, and they emerged and walked towards him without a trace of self-consciousness. Sisenet was simply clad in a plain kilt and leather sandals, but several strands of gold hung with ankhs and miniature crouching baboons lay on his chest, and gold bracelets hugged both his arms. He was carefully painted and wore a gold-and-malachite scarab ring on the index finger of each hand. Harmin was similarly dressed. A gold circlet pa.s.sed around his high forehead and held down his gleaming black hair just about his ears, and from it a single gold ankh rested against his brow giving startling emphasis to his kohled grey eyes.

But Khaemwaset's gaze was drawn to Tbubui. She too was in white. He had wondered if for this occasion she might adopt more fas.h.i.+onable dress-flounces and hundreds of tiny pleats, intricate borders and fussy jewellery-and was irrationally relieved when he saw the tight linen sheath that gripped her lithe body from ankles to b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She, like Harmin, wore a circlet, but hers was wide silver, though the ankh on her forehead was as plain. A silver necklace with a red jasper pendant descending into her cleavage and a loose girdle of silver net with a red ta.s.sle swinging between her hidden knees were the only acknowledgement of formality. Khaemwaset was glad to see the white sandals on her feet. She followed his gaze and laughed. Her perfect, somewhat feline teeth shone against her hennaed mouth and brown skin.

"Yes, Prince, I have learned my lesson," she smiled. "Though I am sure that once I am fully healed I will forget it. I cannot abide too restrictive a mode of dress." Khaemwaset had a mental picture of her wriggling out of the tight, slitted sheath, bending over to lift it past her feet so that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swung free, turning towards him naked, one knee flexed as it had been while she talked to Amek on the dusty river road.

"I see the bandages are gone," he commented. "Are you still in pain?"

She shook her head and they began to move along the paved path, around the house towards the garden. "The sole is a little tender, but that is all," she replied. "You do fine work, Highness. And that reminds me." She signalled, and the servant who had accompanied them came forward and handed Khaemwaset a jar. "Good Wine of the Western River, year one," Tbubui said. "My payment for your time and trouble."

Khaemwaset thanked her, careful not to be effusive, and pa.s.sed the jar to Ib. By then the group had left the path and were walking on soft gra.s.s towards the family. Nubnofret stood waiting, Hori and Sheritra behind her. The visitors at once bowed to them. Nubnofret bade them rise, and Khaemwaset made the introductions and indicated chairs. Hori at once engaged Harmin in conversation, the pair of them sinking to the reed mat and the cus.h.i.+ons face to face, arms curling about their knees. Sheritra, as was her custom, sought refuge behind Khaemwaset's chair. He had expected Nubnofret to begin to chatter to Tbubui while wine and delicacies were being offered by an attentive Ib and his underlings, and, indeed, he saw his wife, lean towards the woman, but Sisenet forestalled her even as she took a breath.

"Highness, perhaps the Prince has told you that my sister and I moved here only two months ago," he began, "and since then we have had a great deal of trouble finding suitable staff. We left many of our servants in Koptos to maintain the estate there and we have tried to replace them, but Memphis servants seem sloppy and deceitful. Have you any advice?"

Khaemwaset saw Nubnofret's green-shaded, large eyes light up. She swung from Tbubui to Sisenet. "You are right," she said, waving Ib away. Nubnofret always kept a clear head when guests were present. "Untrained, the common people here do have a tendency to laziness and lying. I can give you the address of a couple who recruit and partially train servants, and who will be answerable for their behaviour until they have been fully integrated into your household routines. They do not operate cheaply, of course, but then ..."

Khaemwaset felt a hand on his arm, at once withdrawn, but the touch had been cool. "Some of our new servants simply left us," Tbubui remarked to him as he inclined in her direction. "I think the silence overwhelmed them, despite the good wages we offered. Slaves might be a better proposition."

He watched her take a slow, long swallow of wine, her throat working, her hair falling back, and was aware that Sheritra's eyes were fixed on him from slightly behind his chair.

"I do not approve of slaves serving the household directly," he said, "though I did buy a few for the kitchens and stables. Loyalty appears to go hand in hand with dignity."

"An old-fas.h.i.+oned but agreeable philosophy," Tbubui smiled. "Pharaoh does not agree with you, though. The population of slaves allowed to multiply, foreigners serving Egyptians and other foreign n.o.blemen, is frighteningly extensive."