“Forgive me, Khaemwaset,” she said wearily. “It is so hot and even the drinking water tastes brackish at this time of the year. I was unable to sleep this afternoon.” She shrugged. “I am merely out of sorts tonight.”
He kissed her tenderly. “Then we will sit quietly and talk, and play at Dogs and Jackals. Would you like that? Yes?” He sent a servant for the gaming board and led her to the couch, making her sit against the cushions he hastily rearranged. He himself sank cross-legged before her. She was silent until the girl returned, placed the board between them, and went away again. Khaemwaset had the feeling that Tbubui was debating with herself whether or not to say something. She would draw in a quick breath, glance at him, then glance away. He shook out the ivory gaining pieces. “We need more light,” he said, but she shook her head, a sharp gesture, and he merely leaned over the couch and pulled the night lamp closer. Its spasmodic flickering cast fluid shadows over her face, draining it of life, and Khaemwaset thought that she looked her age, older and very tired. She had played upon almost every emotion he had, but tonight she touched one he had not known was in her domain. Pity engulfed him. She was making no attempt to set her Dogs up for the game. She was rolling one piece between her fingers, head down.
“I am full of good news tonight,” he said presently. “My acres have all been safely harvested and I am a little richer than I was last year. But, Tbubui, I …”
She cut him off, a bitter smile growing. “I too have similar news,” she said huskily. “You have planted a crop of a different kind, my husband. I pray its harvest may bring you as much joy.”
For a moment he stared at her, uncomprehending, then a dawning happiness welled up and he reached for her shoulders. “Tbubui! You are pregnant! And so soon!”
She shrugged away. “Perhaps not so soon,” she answered wryly. “We have made much love, Khaemwaset, in the last two months. You should not be so surprised.”
His hands fell into his lap. “But this is wonderful!” he insisted. “I am truly delighted. Why are you not happy also? Are you afraid? But don’t you know I am the best physician in Egypt?”
Again that cynical smile played about her mouth. “No, I am not afraid. Not … that is …”
His pleasure began to evaporate. “I think you had better talk to me,” he said gravely.
For answer she slid from the couch and brushed by him. The flame in the lamp danced madly at her passing and the shadows gyrated on the walls. Khaemwaset twisted to watch her passage.
“I am not well liked in this household,” she said slowly. “No, not at all. Nubnofret has nothing but contempt for me. Hori will not speak to me. He glowers when he thinks I cannot see him, and he makes me cold with his unwavering stares. Sheritra was happy to take my advice, to accept my friendship, until I came here. Now she avoids me.” She swung to face him, a ghostly figure in the room’s half-light, her eyes swollen and huge, her mouth trembling. “I am alone here,” she whispered. “Only your goodwill stands between me and the enmity of your family.”
He was shocked. “But, Tbubui, I think you exaggerate!” he protested. “Remember how stable, how unchanged our life here has been. The adjustments your coming has required take time. You must give them time!”
She took one step towards him. Her tumbled hair seemed to blend into the darkness and her eyes held the same hue. “It is not a matter of time. I have done all I can, Khaemwaset, but behind their superficial politeness is a deep animosity. They hide it from you, of course they do, but they are like vultures, waiting for my protection to be removed so that they can glide in for the kill.”
Khaemwaset opened his mouth to object hotly, but then he remembered Nubnofret’s vicious words and was silent. He watched Tbubui intently, then he said, “I cannot imagine any member of my family doing you harm. You are speaking of generous, enlightened people, not desert brigands who are little better than animals.”
“You do not see what I do!” she cried out in anguish. “The hateful glances behind your back, the tiny indignities, the deliberate aloofness!” She set her white hands against her belly. “For myself, I do not care. I love you and all I want to do is make you happy, Khaemwaset. But there will be a child. I am afraid for my child!” She was becoming increasingly distraught, her voice rising hysterically, her hands turning to claws against her naked abdomen. The linen had slipped to the floor and she stood before him in a panicked, unselfconscious beauty, her very wildness setting up a throb of desire in him. He tried to calm her.