“That is an odd occupation for a woman,” she said, more tartly than she had intended. “Writing history, I mean. As for the walking, I can see what it does for your body. You are tightly made, Tbubui!”
“Highness, you should not underestimate your own beauty,” Tbubui protested, and Nubnofret realized that the woman had correctly interpreted the mild bitterness behind her own words. “Men do not always like a woman’s body to be thin and muscled. Your breasts surely embody the essence of womanhood, being full and so large-nippled. Your hips swell with a most pleasing roundness, and the slight pouch of your belly speaks to a man of fecundity and sensuality. You were made for love.”
Nubnofret was taken aback by Tbubui’s directness and made even more uncomfortable by the minute brush of the woman’s hand on her calf; but the touch was reassuring, a gesture of sympathy. “I wish Khaemwaset agreed with you,” she laughed. “I do not think that he even sees me anymore. To him I am the organizer of his household, the mother of his children and the hostess to his many official guests.” She made a small grimace. “My time is over-full with those duties, so that often even I feel sexless. But that is the way of life, is it not, Tbubui? Romance is for one’s first youth, not for the hard glare of a long marriage.”
“It does not have to be that way,” the other woman responded gently. “Does Khaemwaset seek his concubines sometimes?”
Nubnofret privately considered the question. Was it a breach of good manners or the natural query of one adult woman to another? She decided, watching her guest’s open, warm expression, that it was the latter. She shook her head and pushed her hair, sticky with heat, away from her forehead. “He never goes near them. I myself have not seen them for a long time. They come and go freely from their house, see their relatives, take journeys with permission and sometimes come to help entertain dignitaries. They are lovely women but not, of course, the kind one can befriend. No, Tbubui. If Khaemwaset needs a body he comes to me.”
“I know that he loves you a great deal,” Tbubui said. “He may appear to take you for granted but he values you highly.”
“That may be,” Nubnofret sighed again, “but his love is for a companion, a friend. It is not the delight one takes in a lover. Still I do not complain. I am happy.” For the first time the words she used in her inward self so often suddenly sounded hollow. Am I indeed happy? she wondered. Am I? “And you,” she countered. “Your husband has been dead for a long time. Are you not lonely?”
“Yes, I am,” Tbubui answered frankly. “But I would rather remain a widow than marry just to alleviate my loneliness. I do not need another’s wealth and I have dear Sisenet to care for me. I need love, Highness, but not at any price. The terms must be mine.”
Nubnofret found herself liking Tbubui very much. “We know many great men all over Egypt,” she said. “Would you like to meet some of them? I am a good matchmaker, my dear!” They both dissolved into howls of laughter. Nubnofret sat up and wiped her eyes on her waist linen, and at that moment Wernuro came in, bowed, and proceeded to set out water, wine and beer, and dishes of pastries and sweetmeats.
“Thank you for your offer, Highness,” Tbubui gasped, “but I think I prefer to bore myself than have others bore me. I will have wine,” she continued in answer to Nubnofret’s silent invitation. Wernuro withdrew quietly.
“But what of Harmin?” Nubnofret pressed. With her highly developed sense of precedence on the social scale and the importance of one’s place in it, she could not imagine a family with noble blood that did not want to advance. “Does he not desire a post at court or at least a priestly appointment?”
“I do not think so,” Tbubui replied, sipping her wine. “He will of course inherit my personal estate, small though it is, and he already has the disposition of his father’s wealth. He likes to be comfortable but he is not much inclined to rub shoulders with the powerful and mighty.”
Nubnofret was pleased. Sheritra’s obvious interest in the young man had caused her mother some anxiety, lest he should be merely attempting to get closer to the seat of power in Egypt. “I do hope he and Sheritra are enjoying their day,” she said cautiously. “They have gone up river, I believe, to observe the wild life of the marshes and, if they are lucky, glimpse a crocodile. I do not envy them the heat.”
Tbubui held her wine cup in both brown hands. “I have been meaning to speak to you about the Princess,” she began hesitantly. “I understand that she is very shy and suspicious of people.”