Scroll of Saqqara(62)

“You are right, Sheritra,” Tbubui replied, nodding at the girl, “and surely your father will agree with us. Egypt needs purifying.”

He did agree, and had been arguing for the sake of arguing, but now he found himself left out of the conversation. Sheritra, her shyness forgotten for some reason known only to herself, was answering their guest without a trace of diffidence, and Tbubui was replying with all her attention. Most people did not take the trouble to draw Sheritra out. After the exchange of obligatory pleasantries they would turn their minds and faces to the gorgeous Hori and the rest of the family, and Sheritra would retire into the shadows, eating nothing, drinking little and escaping as soon after dinner as she was permitted.

But Tbubui had somehow drawn out the girl, put her at ease without ostentatiously trying, a ploy that had failed many times when well-meaning guests tried it. Khaemwaset realized that he had been deep in his own thoughts. He came to himself in time to hear Tbubui say, “But Princess, think of the expense such a policy would entail! What pharaoh could afford it? Even Ramses the Lord of All could not.”

Khaemwaset blinked. Sheritra was now at Tbubui’s feet, wiping crumbs from her mouth, her colour high not with embarrassment but with enjoyment, even though Tbubui was actually disagreeing with her, something Sheritra all too often took personally. “Why not?” his daughter objected heatedly. “Let him put a tax on each one first! The gods know, Tbubui, that there are plenty of dirt-poor Egyptian fellahin who would welcome a chance …” Khaemwaset let his glance wander. Harmin was now talking to Nubnofret. He was on his feet, one hand on his slanted, trim hip, head bent over her while gesturing with the wine cup held in his other hand. She was looking up at him attentively, absorbed, perhaps even admiringly. Sisenet was sitting in silence, his eyes on the fountain, his expression closed.

Reluctantly Khaemwaset acknowledged that he must leave Tbubui’s presence and be a proper host to her retiring brother. He turned in time to see her cross one long leg over the other. The slitted sheath fell back, exposing a breathtaking length of dusky thigh. Though the woman’s attention never left a gesticulating Sheritra, Khaemwaset somehow knew that the movement had been for his benefit, and Tbubui was fully aware of his glance.

Dinner was a happy, noisy affair. At Khaemwaset’s request, Nubnofret had demanded the presence of all musicians in the Prince’s pay, and his young dancers and singers as well. Normally, Khaemwaset liked to dine in relative quiet, particularly if his guests were present on official pharaonic business and would want to talk seriously after the sixth course, but this time he had wanted entertainment. Spring flowers were everywhere, heady in their ripeness, and incense filled the air with a bluish haze. The dancers wove about the little tables, finger-cymbals clicking, weighted hair swinging, and the singers’ harmony filled the ears of the company.

Khaemwaset had been careful to place Sheritra close to himself and the doors so that she could both be protected and beat a silent retreat when she wanted to. But he found her place taken by Tbubui, a laughing, animated, altogether bewitching Tbubui who joked, fingered her injured foot with mock alarm and kept up a stream of entirely fascinating conversation that included Nubnofret as well as himself. Hori and Sisenet had their heads together over the wine and were discussing something in private, inaudible voices.

Harmin sat beside Sheritra and she did not seem to mind. Once in a while he would touch her—on the shoulder, on the arm—and once Khaemwaset happened to see him putting a white lotus bloom behind her ear, smiling in answer to her chuckle. What is happening to us all tonight? he wondered delightedly. It is as though a spirit of good-humoured recklessness has invaded the house, so that surprising but good things might overtake us at any moment.

The party did not break up until the dawn. Even when good manners demanded that the guests be allowed to go, the family gathered on the watersteps in the grey, fleetingly cold un-light, as if to drain the last drops of their company. Looking around at their palely lit faces, Khaemwaset was surprised to see Sheritra’s still among them, and, startled by the expression of half-hungry eagerness all of them carried. No one was drunk, but all, though exhausted, were still exhilarated. The torches that had burned all night on the visitors’ barge in preparation for their departure were extinguished. Tbubui, Sisenet and Harmin made their reverences, went aboard, and the family watched the craft angle out of sight on an oily, waveless river. Nubnofret sighed.

“It is going to be a hot day,” she said. “Well, Khaemwaset, they were excellent company and I should like to invite them again, even though their accent is provincial and their taste in everything is quaint, to say the least.”