“I know exactly what I am asking of you,” he insisted. “Courage. Now will you sing?”
For answer she sat straighter and willed herself not to blush. Her first notes were hesitant, and her voice cracked once, but soon her confidence began to flow and the ancient, sensuous words carried clear and sure across the river. “‘Your love, I desire it, like butter and honey. You belong to me, like best ointment on the limbs of the nobles, like finest linen …’” She sang only the woman’s part of the song, omitting the lover’s response, and she was startled when Harmin broke in softly, “‘My companionship will be for all the days, satisfying even for old age. I shall be with you every day, that I may give you my love always.’”
Both fell silent, then Harmin left the stool, lowered himself onto the cushion beside her and, taking her face in both his warn hands, he kissed her gently on the mouth. Her first impulse was to panic. She wanted to struggle, pull away, but his lips were so unthreatening, tasting of dust and beer, and their pressure did not increase, so that in the end the tension went out of her and she put both hands on his smooth shoulders and kissed him back. When they drew apart she saw his eyes somnolent with desire. “Little Sun,” he murmured. “I am greatly looking forward to the day after tomorrow. My horoscope told me that my luck would be phenomenally high this month and lo! here I am beside you.”
Sheritra smiled shakily, afraid that he might kiss her again, but she was coming to recognize his almost uncanny intuition regarding her needs. He scrambled to his feet, regaining the stool and began regaling her with stories of his life in Koptos. Once at her watersteps, he thanked her with formal grace for her company, placed her in Amek’s care and disappeared into the cabin, twitching the curtains closed behind him. Sheritra had time to be bathed and to don her most feminine gown before sweeping in to dinner with her chin held high.
8
I am strong as Thoth,
I am as mighty as Atum,
I walk with my legs,
I speak with my mouth in order to seek out my foe.
He has been given to me and he shall not be
taken from me.
HORI HAD SLEPTunusually late that same morning. He had planned to rise with Ra and join Antef on the river for some fishing before going to the tomb site. His body servant had dutifully roused him an hour before the dawn, but before the man was out of the room, Hori had dropped into a bottomless pit of unconsciousness again, emerging four hours later disgruntled and out of sorts.
He took his time eating in bed, calling for the harpist to soothe his agitation while he forced bread, butter and fresh fruit into his mouth, and by the time he stood on the raised stone of the bathing house having scented water trickled over his body, he felt almost himself again. Almost. If his father had cast the horoscopes he would have been able to consult his and thus plan a day that had undeniably begun badly, but as it was, all he could do was take some sensible precautions. I will not do my archery practice today, he thought as the servant wrapped a kilt about his waist and held his jewels for selection. Better to stay away from sharp instruments. Neither will I go out in the chariot with Antef later. I will dictate some letters, look over the latest work from the tomb and then while away the rest of the afternoon talking to Sheritra in the garden. He pointed absently at a silver-and-carnelian pectoral and a couple of plain silver bracelets chased with scarabs, and the man pushed them over his unco-operative hands. I wish I could remember what I dreamt, his thoughts ran on. Then it could be interpreted and perhaps the day salvaged. Ah well. I have neglected my prayers of late. Antef, if he has forgiven me, can open my shrine and prostrate himself beside me before I do anything else. But upon his enquiry his body servant told him that Antef had gone into the city on several errands that demanded his personal attention and would not be back for hours.
Hori immediately gave up the idea of praying. He sat beside his couch and for a time dictated letters to various friends in the Delta, his ailing grandmother, and his fellow priests of Ptah who were doing their active service for the god in the great temple at Pi-Ramses. He then riffled through the ongoing work of the artists labouring to copy the scenes in the tomb, but the thought of the tomb made him irritable. What is the matter with me? he thought for the hundredth time. I will find Father and ask him about Sisenet’s theory, see if he wants to knock down that wall. But Khaemwaset was closeted with a patient and Ib advised Hori not to wait for him. The undercurrent of restless frustration that had been simmering under the young man’s usually sunny calm became a flood of annoyance, and he ordered out a skiff and oars. Refusing an armed escort he ran down the watersteps, flung himself into the graceful little craft and began to pull himself down river.