Scroll of Saqqara(107)

“Do not wait too long,” she advised, and he shook his head, still giddy with desire.

“I plan a sumptuous suite for you, attached to the house,” he said, “but it will not be ready before you move in. Will you accept lodgings with the concubines temporarily?”

She nodded coolly. “Temporarily,” she agreed. “Sisenet will remain here or go back to Koptos, he has not yet decided which,” she went on, “and Harmin is as yet undecided about what he will do.”

Khaemwaset sat back. “You have already told your brother?” he asked, bewildered, and she gave him a level, almost arrogant glance.

“Naturally,” she said. “I do not need his permission, but as he is my closest relative and older brother, I want his approval.”

“And did he give it?” Khaemwaset was annoyed. He felt at an immediate disadvantage to a man who was definitely his social and hereditary inferior, and who should have had no say in the matter whatsoever. But then he was ashamed. Tbubui was a dutiful Egyptian woman, tactful and careful of the feelings of her loved ones.

“Yes, he did,” she replied. “He wants me to be happy, Khaemwaset, and he says that you do us great honour.”

Khaemwaset was mollified. “I must speak to him today,” he said. “I am still getting nowhere with the scroll. Hori tells me that the false wall in the tomb has been rebuilt and the artists are re-creating the paintings. Soon it will be closed again.”

Tbubui stood and smoothed down her linen. Khaemwaset’s eyes followed the slow movement of her hands. “Sisenet is in his room,” she said. “If your Highness wishes, I can summon him.”

“No,” Khaemwaset replied graciously, “I will come.”

She inclined her head and crossed the hall. Khaemwaset followed, turning after her into the passage. She went left, and as he followed he glanced to the right. Sheritra’s laughter drifted to him, coming on the hot breeze funnelled through the permanently opened door to the garden at the far end. In the blaze of white light he saw her kneeling on a reed mat under a flapping canopy, Harmin opposite, their heads almost touching. Before he looked away he saw her fling the knucklebones to the mat and give a cry of delight. Harmin was smiling.

Sisenet looked up, startled, as Khaemwaset entered, then rose from the chair and bowed gravely. This man knows I am insanely in love with his sister, Khaemwaset thought as he strove to meet the other’s quiet gaze. Tbubui excused herself and Sisenet indicated the chair he had just left. Khaemwaset took it. On the table beside him was beer, the remains of a small meal and several loosely rolled scrolls.

“I see you have been reading,” Khaemwaset remarked. “A pleasant occupation on an enervating day.”

Sisenet sank to the edge of the couch and crossed his legs. For the first time, Khaemwaset noticed that the man’s body was well toned, his calves tight, his stomach flat with no sign of a fold about the waist, though, due to his position, his spine was slightly curved. But he is a sedentary and studious man like myself, Khaemwaset thought jealously. How does he remain so supple?

“These scrolls are my favourite pastimes, Prince,” Sisenet replied. One is the story of Apepa and Seqenenra, and the other is a rather rare and very ancient copy of the Book of the Heavenly Cow. As well as describing man’s rebellion against Ra, his punishment and Ra’s withdrawal into heaven, it contains certain magic spells for the good of those deceased.”

Khaemwaset’s interest was piqued. Unrolling them carefully he cast his eye over the tiny neat hieroglyphs. “They are treasures indeed,” he said admiringly. “Did you buy them, Sisenet? I know many dealers in ancient documents. Who sold them to you?”

Sisenet smiled and Khaemwaset saw his face lose its usually grim aspect and become suddenly youthful. “I did not buy them, Highness,” he said. “They belong to my family. One of my ancestors was a mighty historian and magician, and he must have been overjoyed to find both history and magic in that one precious scroll.”

“Have you approached a magician to try out the spells?” Khaemwaset was intrigued.

Sisenet shook his head. “I myself have some small ability in the field,” he explained. “I did my duty in Koptos as a priest of Thoth.”

“You surprise me,” Khaemwaset said, remembering how seldom he had conversed deeply with this man, how easily he had dismissed him as of no account. “Did any of the spells work? Are they correct?”

“Highness, as they are concerned with the well-being of the deceased, I have no way of knowing,” Sisenet answered lightly, and Khaemwaset clapped a hand to his linen-helmeted forehead.