Khaemwaset was by now so fatigued that he re-locked the chests and at last the library door in a haze, and was almost staggering as he made his way through into his sleeping quarters. They were in darkness. He knew that the night slave lay just outside the door, on a straw palette in the passage, but he did not bother to rouse him. Feeling his way, Khaemwaset reached the couch, pulled off his kilt, kicked off his sandals and collapsed under the sheets that smelled faintly of the lotus water in which they were rinsed. He was asleep immediately.
In the morning, after his ablutions, prayers and a breakfast eaten in the blessed privacy of his own quarters, he made his way to the library. Taking new charcoal he once more lit a small fire and, continuing by memory the spell he had begun the night before, he poured the scarab’s body in its bath of oil into the cup that held the head and wings. He no longer felt hounded or afraid. Setting the cup above the charcoal, he waited for the oils to boil. He knew that in order for the spell to achieve its maximum protection he must abstain from sexual intercourse for seven days. The practice of magic often required such strictures, and many of his fellows found them irksome, but a week without sex meant little to Khaemwaset.
The oils were now boiling, sending the slightly bitter aroma of the apnent serpent into the air. Taking the tongs, he removed the cup and placed it on a ledge to cool a little, leaving the charcoal to burn itself out The concoction had to be drunk very hot and he kept a close watch on it to make sure it did not lose its heat too far.
Then, after chanting aloud the last of the spell, he took the cup and rapidly drank, feeling the now heavy body of the scarab slide on the oil down his throat. I have undone my foolishness of last night, he thought with a light heart as he went back into the office and began to gather up the pile of papyrus sheets on which he had worked. Penbuy can file these scribblings with his copy of the scroll but I will not give up my attempt to translate it. No ancient writings have beaten me yet and this one will be no exception. “Penbuy!” he called, knowing his scribe would by now be waiting outside the door to conduct the day’s business. “You can come in. What letters have arrived from the Delta?”
When he had finished dictating the necessary replies, Khaemwaset remembered that he must make his peace with his daughter and went in search of her. He found her in the small antechamber that led to the rear entrance to the house, watching the house snake drinking the milk that was always placed ready for it. She greeted him with a smile.
“I think he is grateful,” she commented. “When he is finished he pauses and looks about, if someone is near. If not he merely slithers away. I know, because I sometimes hide to observe him.”
Khaemwaset kissed her smooth forehead. “I must apologize for last night, Sheritra,” he said contritely. “I became absorbed in some work and forgot all about you. I am not the most reliable of fathers, am I?”
“I forgive you,” she said with a teasing solemnity, shaking a finger at him, “but to make up for it you will have to read to me tonight for twice as long. Oh Father,” she went on. “I am not a child anymore, to fly into a rage or cry myself to sleep if I am sometimes overlooked. I understand perfectly.”
But you do cry yourself to sleep sometimes, he thought, looking at her as her attention returned to the snake, still motionless with its muzzle in the white froth. Bakmut told me so during one of her reports to me on your progress. You cry at your own inadequacy, in anger at yourself. I understand you perfectly also. “I am planning a little escape today,” he said. “I intend to steal away for a few hours and return just in time to swallow the first course of dinner. Will you join me?”
She grinned conspiratorially at him. “Mother will expect me to play her my lute lesson,” she answered. “If I am not to be found she will have several choice things to say to me tomorrow.” She pursed her lips. “Well, I am used to that. I would love to come with you, Father.”
“Good. Meet me after the noon sleep, at the rear of the garden.”
She nodded and squatted, for the snake had now raised its head and was lazily regarding her with its black, unblinking stare. Khaemwaset left them.
He and Sheritra got onto their litters at the garden gate a little after the noon sleep and, accompanied by Amek and four soldiers, set off for the site of the tomb. As they swayed through the northern districts of the city they talked of inconsequential things, happy to be in each other’s company. Guiltily they smiled and laughed, and Khaemwaset thought how Sheritra looked almost pretty with her tinkling carnelian bracelets hugging the brown of her gesticulating arms and the black braids of her wig stirring against her graceful neck as she spoke.