Scroll of Saqqara(101)

11

From the evil-doer the quay slips away.

He is carried away by his flooded land.


KHAEMWASET SAT behind his desk, his head swimming in the close airlessness of his office, and stared down at the papers littered between his hands. It was the beginning of Phamenoth. Sheritra had been gone for three days and Khaemwaset missed her, surprised at the definitely hollow place she had left. He had not realized how much he had taken for granted the moments when he would turn a corner and find her bending with milk for the house snakes, or glance up from his meal to where she would be folded, one knee up, her linens askew, frowning over her food while the ebb and flow of family conversation swirled apparently unheeded around her. The garden, wilting and struggling under an intensifying sun, seemed forlorn without her presence. He had grown so used to Nubnofret’s sharp reprimands and his own automatic rebuffs in defence of his daughter that he had been scarcely aware of them, yet now when he, his wife and Hori settled in the dining hall to while away the evening hours, he cast about for what was wrong and discovered the absence of one familiar habit.

Hori was unusually preoccupied and uncommunicative. Perhaps he missed her also. He was gone from sunrise to dinner time and no longer sought out his father with an eager account of his days. Khaemwaset presumed that he was still overseeing the work on the tomb and roaming the city in his spare time with Antef, and it worried him to see Antef on several occasions wandering moodily along the paths of the estate by himself. Khaemwaset had removed the stitches in Hori’s knee and the boy no longer limped. The wound had healed well but would leave an untidy scar. Khaemwaset wanted to ask his son what he had done with the earring, and what was the cause of his distress, but found he could not. A wall, still insubstantial but strengthening, had appeared between them. Hori had withdrawn and Khaemwaset found himself unwilling to pierce that almost sullen shell. He had his own agonies.

Two days after Sheritra’s departure he had summoned Penbuy and, wrapped in an atmosphere of complete unreality, had ordered his Chief Scribe to draw up a marriage contract between himself and Tbubui. Penbuy with his impeccable manners and the restraint of good breeding, had given his master the briefest of stares, blanched a little under his deep olive skin and sunk cross-legged to the floor, arranging his palette in the pose hallowed by generations of scribes. “What title is the lady to receive?” he asked primly, pen poised.

“She will of course immediately become a princess when she signs the document,” Khaemwaset said, hardly recognizing his own voice, “but her official position here will be that of Second Wife. Emphasize in the contract that Nubnofret remains Chief Wife and Superior Princess.” Penbuy wrote.

“Are you aware of her assets, Prince?” he asked at length. “Do you wish a clause giving you the right to control any or all of them?”

“No.” Khaemwaset was finding the exchange more difficult than he could have imagined. Guilt and dread were making him testy, but he had now lived with the two negative emotions so long that he was able to ignore them. The feeling of brittle illusion surrounding what he was doing was very strong. “I know nothing of her assets save that she has some property of her own. Her late husband’s estate went to Harmin. I have no desire to meddle in her commercial affairs.”

“Very good.” Penbuy’s head went down again. “And what of her son?” he queried. “Is he to share in your bequest to Hori and your daughter in the event of your death?”

“No.” Khaemwaset’s answer was curt and he was sure he saw a relieved loosening in his scribe’s stance. “Harmin does not need anything from me. Nor is he to receive any princely title unless he marries Sheritra. He must not know that, Penbuy.”

“Naturally,” Penbuy purred, writing industriously. “But what of any offspring from this marriage, Prince?”

Khaemwaset’s gut churned. “If Tbubui gives me children, they must share equally in my wealth with Hori and Sheritra. You will include the usual clauses, Penbuy. I am to provide for Tbubui, treat her with respect and kindness and perform such accepted duties as a husband is obligated to do. And before you ask, her brother will not be mentioned in this contract at all. He is incidental to this negotiation.”

Penbuy laid his pen carefully on the palette and for the first time looked up at his master. “Prince, you do remember that as a member of the royal family your choice of wives is subject to Pharaoh’s approval,” he reminded Khaemwaset with pursed mouth and expressionless gaze. “If the lady’s blood proves to be too common and you pursue this course, you run the risk of being removed from the list of blood princes in line for the throne.”