Scroll of Saqqara(35)
Khaemwaset good-humouredly returned her embrace, kissed Nubnofret and, going to his low table, called for water to wash his hands. “I have not had time to change my clothes,” he apologized to his wife. “I did not want to hold you up while I did so.”
She did not appear to be annoyed. “I have had plenty to do while you were gone,” was all she said on the subject. “Did you find anything interesting, Khaemwaset?”
At that moment Hori entered, Khaemwaset signalled for the meal to be served and a general conversation began. The family’s musicians, a harpist, lute player and drummer, accompanied the desultory to and fro of the talk. Nubnofret had not really wanted an answer to her question, and Khaemwaset was relieved when she did not pursue the matter. He was afraid that Hori might prattle of the thing his father had done, but Hori and Sheritra, their tables touching, were engaged in some private discussion of their own.
Khaemwaset, though hungry, found that he could not eat. As night deepened and a sweet wind blew through the windows whose flax mats were still raised, his thoughts revolved around the scroll, surely even now resting on his desk, waiting for him. With an effort he tried to concentrate on Nubnofret’s words.
“Your brother Si-Montu came today while you were out,” she was saying, her ample arms across her table, beringed hands clasped around a wine cup. “He was disappointed to find you gone. I gave him beer and honey cakes and then he left.”
Khaemwaset suppressed a sigh. He knew that she did not approve of Si-Montu, considering him loud and rude, but her true criticism was that he had married beneath him. “What did he want?” he asked mildly. “I hope you made him welcome, Nubnofret.”
There was a small silence. Nubnofret removed her rings, considered them, and replaced them with deliberation. Hori signalled for more bread.
“I am not ill-mannered, Khaemwaset,” she rebuked him. “Your brother wanted an afternoon with you, drinking in the garden. That was all.”
Khaemwaset felt a rare rebellion flare in him. “He may have married the daughter of a Syrian ship’s captain and thus disqualified himself as a prince in line for the throne,” he said evenly, “but he is a good and honest man and I love him. I would have enjoyed his company.”
“I like Uncle Si-Montu,” Sheritra’s light voice broke in with uncharacteristic defiance. She was looking directly at her mother, her colour high, her hands working in her linens. “He always brings me something strange when he comes and he talks to me as though I had some intelligence. Ben-Anath is beautiful, and shy like me. I think the story of their meeting and falling in love and marrying against Grandfather’s wishes is wonderful.”
“Well if you expect to meet someone and have him fall in love with you, my girl, you will have to take yourself in hand!” Nubnofret retorted, cruelly but rightly interpreting the longing in her daughter’s tone. “Men are not attracted to plain women, no matter how clever they are.”
Sheritra’s flush deepened. Her hand stole into Hori’s and she looked down. Khaemwaset gestured, and the servants began to clear away the debris of the meal.
“Send Bakmut to me when you retire,” he said to his daughter, “and I will come and talk. Why don’t you and Hori take a walk around the garden?”
“Thank you, Father,” she replied, and rising, her hand still clutching Hori’s, she turned to Nubnofret. “I apologize for displeasing you yet again, Mother,” she said stiffly. “If you wish I will eat dinner alone in my rooms tomorrow so that I may not interfere with your digestion.” She and Hori were gone before Nubnofret could make a comment.
Khaemwaset smiled inwardly in spite of his sympathy. Sheritra had a streak of stubbornness in her, and had managed the last word. Nevertheless, he reprimanded Nubnofret. “If you cannot accept Sheritra as she is,” he said coldly, “I will consider sending her to our estate at Ninsu for a while. You hurt her more than she will admit. In the Fayum she will be near Pharaoh’s harem, which doubtless contains women with more sympathy than her own mother. Sunero is a good agent. His family would be happy to keep Sheritra for a while.”
Nubnofret’s shoulders slumped. “I am sorry, my brother,” she said. “There is something about her that raises my ire no matter how I try to conceal it. I want her to be beautiful, to be sought after …” She slapped her palms against the table and stood, drawing her floating yellow linens around her. “I may not like Si-Montu for his uncouth ways but I agree with my daughter. His romance with Ben-Anath set my heart fluttering as well. Why am I never able to admit my agreement?” She hesitated, and Khaemwaset had the feeling that she wished to kneel and put her arms about him, but she only smiled faintly, clicked her fingers at a servant girl who had dropped some scraps, and sailed out of the room,