Slowly the festive procession passed the main entrance where the path veered and made its way through the north garden, circumventing the still-chaotic building site. Khaemwaset saw Tbubui turn her head and give the mess a quick appraisal before looking solemnly ahead again.
Now, at the rear of the house, Khaemwaset’s harpist joined them and began to play, his pleasant tenor blending with the plangent notes of the instrument and the piping of the dozens of birds that came habitually to drink and bathe in the fountain.
Beyond the rear of the house was the huge compound containing the servants’ quarters, the kitchens, and the storehouses and granaries, but off to the right, in a pleasant circle of bushy trees, lay the concubines’ home. Here Khaemwaset’s other women were ranged in front of the building, dressed in their best linen. He addressed them briefly and informally, reminding them that Tbubui took precedence over them, and while she was quartered in their midst her word had weight. He had been about to tell them that Tbubui’s word was law, but he bit his tongue just in time, remembering that Nubnofret as Chief Wife ruled the concubines as she ruled the whole establishment. Standing aside, he beckoned her. Regally she came, took Tbubui’s hand, and led her into the house, the others following.
“You are now under the protection of the lord of this house,” she intoned. “As you expect his kindness and companionship, so he expects the faithfulness of your body, mind and ka. Do you agree to this?”
“I do.” Tbubui responded. There was a startling crash as the priest deliberately dropped the two pottery jars that had contained the milk and blood at Tbubui’s feet, signifying the beginning of joy and bounty for the marriage. Then all began to clap. Khaemwaset moved past Nubnofret and took Tbubui in his arms. “When your suite is ready we will repeat this most delightful ceremony,” he smiled, “but for now I am afraid these two little rooms must serve. Welcome home, my dearest sister.” He kissed her amid redoubled noise, then all but Tbubui withdrew.
“The troop of Nubian dancers you hired for the evening are here already,” Nubnofret remarked to Khaemwaset as they walked back to the house. “I have no idea what to do with them, but I suppose I can set up a couple of tents in the south garden. In any event, I must have a word with Ib about the placing of the tables.” She raked him with a cool, amused glance. You are a foolish man enjoying a spurious second adolescence, that look said, but I have important things to do.
She swept away, shooing the excited servants ahead of her. Sheritra rubbed her father’s arm. He turned to give her his attention, aware that the soles of his sandals were sticky with milk and blood and the aroma of the mixture was rising on the heat, an unpleasant, sweet-sick smell.
“Harmin has just told me that he will be staying on with his uncle,” Sheritra said. “I thought he would move in with us, with his mother. Can’t we find a corner for him, Father?” Please?”
Khaemwaset considered the limpid, pleading eyes in their rims of black kohl. She had parted her hair in the middle today, letting it hang in gleaming coils to her shoulders, and on her head was a princess’s crown, a slender, gold circlet with the vulture goddess Mut perched warily above her smooth forehead, and the two thin, golden plumes of Amun quivering at the back. Her gold-shot linen was semitransparent, a drift of soft material that betrayed her tiny breasts and boyish waist. Khaemwaset thought how until recently she would have donned linen so thick that its weight would have been trying in the heat of summer, and her shoulders would have been rounded protectively over her chest. He could not be sure, but he fancied that she had painted her nipples—dark splinters of muted gold light could be seen under the sheath. A tremor of concern shook him, and he placed one finger under her chin.
“You know that there is no room for Harmin in the house until the addition is finished,” he explained, tipping her face. “That will be quite soon, Little Sun. But I think Harmin prefers to stay with his uncle. Life here is somewhat hectic.”
She pulled away with one sulky jerk. “If he is not here I must go there to visit,” she said angrily, “and I cannot go without chaperones and I must sit decorously in the garden or in the reception hall and talk to him about nothing. I shall hate that!”
“You are exaggerating,” he objected mildly. “Harmin will be coming here to see his mother almost every day until he chooses to move in with her.”
“But I want to see him whenever I choose!” she almost shouted at him. “You have your happiness, Father. I want mine!”