Scroll of Saqqara(61)
“Yes, Prince, I have learned my lesson,” she smiled. “Though I am sure that once I am fully healed I will forget it. I cannot abide too restrictive a mode of dress.” Khaemwaset had a mental picture of her wriggling out of the tight, slitted sheath, bending over to lift it past her feet so that her breasts swung free, turning towards him naked, one knee flexed as it had been while she talked to Amek on the dusty river road.
“I see the bandages are gone,” he commented. “Are you still in pain?”
She shook her head and they began to move along the paved path, around the house towards the garden. “The sole is a little tender, but that is all,” she replied. “You do fine work, Highness. And that reminds me.” She signalled, and the servant who had accompanied them came forward and handed Khaemwaset a jar. “Good Wine of the Western River, year one,” Tbubui said. “My payment for your time and trouble.”
Khaemwaset thanked her, careful not to be effusive, and passed the jar to Ib. By then the group had left the path and were walking on soft grass towards the family. Nubnofret stood waiting, Hori and Sheritra behind her. The visitors at once bowed to them. Nubnofret bade them rise, and Khaemwaset made the introductions and indicated chairs. Hori at once engaged Harmin in conversation, the pair of them sinking to the reed mat and the cushions face to face, arms curling about their knees. Sheritra, as was her custom, sought refuge behind Khaemwaset’s chair. He had expected Nubnofret to begin to chatter to Tbubui while wine and delicacies were being offered by an attentive Ib and his underlings, and, indeed, he saw his wife, lean towards the woman, but Sisenet forestalled her even as she took a breath.
“Highness, perhaps the Prince has told you that my sister and I moved here only two months ago,” he began, “and since then we have had a great deal of trouble finding suitable staff. We left many of our servants in Koptos to maintain the estate there and we have tried to replace them, but Memphis servants seem sloppy and deceitful. Have you any advice?”
Khaemwaset saw Nubnofret’s green-shaded, large eyes light up. She swung from Tbubui to Sisenet. “You are right,” she said, waving Ib away. Nubnofret always kept a clear head when guests were present. “Untrained, the common people here do have a tendency to laziness and lying. I can give you the address of a couple who recruit and partially train servants, and who will be answerable for their behaviour until they have been fully integrated into your household routines. They do not operate cheaply, of course, but then …”
Khaemwaset felt a hand on his arm, at once withdrawn, but the touch had been cool. “Some of our new servants simply left us,” Tbubui remarked to him as he inclined in her direction. “I think the silence overwhelmed them, despite the good wages we offered. Slaves might be a better proposition.”
He watched her take a slow, long swallow of wine, her throat working, her hair falling back, and was aware that Sheritra’s eyes were fixed on him from slightly behind his chair.
“I do not approve of slaves serving the household directly,” he said, “though I did buy a few for the kitchens and stables. Loyalty appears to go hand in hand with dignity.”
“An old-fashioned but agreeable philosophy,” Tbubui smiled. “Pharaoh does not agree with you, though. The population of slaves allowed to multiply, foreigners serving Egyptians and other foreign noblemen, is frighteningly extensive.”
“Why frightening?” Khaemwaset asked, intrigued He noted that Sheritra had hitched a little closer so that she might hear better.
“Because one day the slaves might realize that they outnumber the free and might take steps to wrench that freedom from us,” Tbubui said simply. Her expression was serious, sober, a student of human nature discussing that nature with another student. Her gaze was direct.
“Such a wish would be foolish,” Khaemwaset objected. Privately he was thinking, one does not talk to women in this way. Women run households and handle their businesses, practical things, but they do not play with theories. He could not imagine this kind of talk with Nubnofret. But with Sheritra … A hand appeared beside him, slid a spicy pastry from the plate on the table, and retired. So she had relaxed enough to be nibbling. That was good, a surprising sign. “Our army is powerful, swift, and well armed,” he went on. “No uprising of slaves, no matter how strong, could withstand my father’s soldiers.”
“The army itself contains thousands of foreign mercenaries.” Startled, Khaemwaset looked around. The voice was Sheritra’s. “Imagine, Father, if they decided that their loyalties lay with blood ties, not with Grandfather’s gold!”