Scroll of Saqqara(43)

“That’s Sheritra,” she said tersely, and slid out from under him, reaching for her gown at the same time. Dazedly he fumbled to tie the sheet once more around his waist, and they hurried into the passage.

Wernuro and the guard were now awake, Wernuro struggling sleepily to light a lamp. Nubnofret brushed past them. Khaemwaset’s eyes were on the tumble of russet hair down her back, the swift padding of her naked feet under the floating white gown. Naked feet, he thought, suddenly confused. Naked feet. Sunlight. Apple orchard. My dream. Like a blow he knew then that the woman who had been lurking behind the laden tree in his dream was the same one that he and Sheritra had pursued that afternoon, and he had just rendered the protecting spell of the morning null and void by making love to Nubnofret. How did it happen? he asked himself, aghast. To me of all people! Such loss of control is inexcusable. I am unguarded, we are all defenceless.

Nubnofret was turning into Sheritra’s quarters just as Bakmut was coming out. The servant bowed. “What is wrong?” Nubnofret asked sharply. “A nightmare, I think,” the girl answered. “I am on my way to fetch a little wine for the Princess, to calm her. She is fully awake now.”

Khaemwaset did not wait. Stepping past the two women, he strode to Sheritra’s couch. His daughter was sitting up, arms about her knees in a characteristic gesture, her face pale. When she saw him she held out her arms and he sank onto the couch while she buried her face in his shoulder.

“What is it, Little Sun?” he asked soothingly. “It’s all right now. I’m here.”

“I don’t really know,” Sheritra replied, a quaver in her voice though she was trying to keep it steady. “I never have bad dreams, Father, you know that, but tonight, just now …” She shuddered and lifted her head “It was something terrible, fearsome, not a person or an animal but a feeling, like something growing behind me, without eyes or ears but aware of me as prey, something malevolent to devour me.”

Nubnofret had seated herself and taken Sheritra’s hand. “Bakmut will be here in a moment with the wine,” she said reassuringly, “and you will drink and sleep again. It was only a dream, my dear. See, your father and I are here and your things are all around you, safely and sanely. Hear that owl, hunting? You are at home in your own bed, and all is well.” She was stroking the pallid hand as she spoke, smiling at both of them. Khaemwaset was overcome with tenderness for her. He put his free arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Sheritra said. “I did wrong today, Mother, and this may very well be the punishment of my conscience.”

For once Nubnofret did not take advantage of the statement. “I do not think so,” she said. “Here is Bakmut. Drink the wine, and we will stay with you until you fall asleep again.”

Sheritra’s plain features relaxed. Taking the cup, she drank deeply, then burrowed down into her pillow. “Tell me a story, Father,” she asked drowsily, and, with an amused glance at his wife, he began to do so, but he had only recited a few sentences when Sheritra’s breathing became regular and her eyes ceased to flutter under the pale lids. He and Nubnofret crept out and Bakmut closed the door behind them.

“We used to do this when the children were very small,” Nubnofret said to Khaemwaset as they walked back down the passage. “Although Sheritra was so frightened, I felt almost young again.” She smiled at him wistfully out of a welter of disordered hair.

“You feel old, Nubnofret?” he asked, startled. “But you never …”

“I never give any indication of my years?” she finished for him. “That does not mean that I do not feel them, Khaemwaset. I am not altogether the coldly efficient mistress of a royal household, you know.” Khaemwaset looked for accusation in her face, but there was none. She was staring up at him hesitantly, like a young girl longing for a kiss but too afraid to make the first move, love in her still sleep-swollen eyes. He took her in his arms. “Will you stay with me tonight?” she begged. “I have not felt the warmth of your body beside me for so long.” Again he looked for recrimination and found none.

“I would like that also,” he agreed, and thought to himself, The incantation is destroyed. What harm can it do? Yet as he lay on his side under her sheets and felt her fit her body around his, he saw again the woman on the street, and all at once the dark house around and over him seemed full of the foreboding of Sheritra’s nightmare. He fell asleep with a prayer on his lips.

In the morning he had a lingering headache and a huge fatigue. He and the rest of the family, subdued and quiet, gathered briefly in the coolness of the reception hall before scattering to the day’s duties.