Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,124

opened this house of books. Fine manuscripts we are producing, too. You’ve seen Ptah-hotep? Is he healthy?’

‘Very well, master, he’ll be delighted to learn that you are happy also.’

‘Tell him I wish him very well, and refer him to line 37 in the Prophecies of Neferti,’ said Dhutmose, his bright smile a little quenched. ‘Now, lady, you are looking for a man?’

‘Not for myself,’ I said hastily, and Dhutmose laughed, a good rich hearty laugh.

‘I can see for myself that you are suited,’ he patted my knee. ‘But for this protégé of the Widow-Queen Tiye may she live forever. A young woman?’

‘Eighteen, as I am. Used to the old king.’ I did not name him because I would have had to use the name of the forbidden god Osiris; and that did not strike me as a good plan in the temple school of the Aten.

‘It is going to be very difficult to find a young man with the skill of the old king; especially it is going to be very difficult to find a young man who is unmarried who has those skills unless he has been taught by a very clever young woman. Now, let us see. Eighty-three of them are married. Twenty more are boys. Let me think. We have seventeen possibles. How would you like to proceed, lady?’

‘Call each of them in and let me speak to them and touch them,’ I said. ‘We should be able to weed out the impossibles fairly quickly. I know the lady’s tastes.’

Then we began a weary round of interviews. I had never seen such an unattractive collection of youths. The ones who were not unwashed were over-clean and over-decorated and at least three of them met Kheperren’s eye and blushed or looked away; pretty boys who had been in the army camp, picking up soldiers as brief chance-met lovers. They, clearly, would not do. Not one had a spark of humour or imagination. I would not have lain down with any of them if I had been unmated for a year.

‘Lady, they are all the young men I can show you,’ apologised Dhutmose, reminding me irresistibly of a stock merchant regretting that he had no good horses this year. ‘I agree that they are filthy and unlearned. I am thinking of ordering compulsory bathing before they enter the building. I can show you thirty nice young men with impeccable manners and learning, but they are all married and I can see that the Widow-Queen Tiye may she live would not want to give away her adoptive daughter to be a secondary wife. ‘

‘Then, Master, in default of a pretty young man, I’m afraid it is going to have to be you,’ I said, consulting Kheperren with a lifted eyebrow and getting a nod in response.

‘Me?’ Dhutmose sat down suddenly in his chair of state.

‘I was sent to find a man of humour and intelligence, of kindness and gentleness, one without a wife who had sufficient wealth to support my sister,’ I said firmly. ‘Are you alone?’

‘I am,’ Dhutmose took a sip of beer and fanned himself.

‘Have you sufficient property to take a woman without a dowry?’

‘I have, but a royal lady…’

‘Your wife, she taught to you make love well?’

‘She was pleased with me after a couple of months,’ he said, and then looked so sad that I wanted to hug him.

‘Do you wish to please the Mistress of Egypt?’

‘Of course. The question is, of course, will I please this daughter? What if she wants a strong young man? I am forty, getting a little thick around the middle and my hair is marching backwards across my scalp. I am not the figure of a lover in a song. If she had been the same age, well then, I would like some company, especially if she could read. My wife was a learned woman from the temple of Isis, and we used to read aloud by lamplight on the hot nights when no one can sleep.’

‘She can read and write both cursive and hieroglyphics. She is slim and has light brown eyes and dark brown hair. She likes children and honeycakes and singing. She can dance all the Egyptian dances and Kritian too. She is…’

‘By the Gods,’ gasped Master Dhutmose, forgetting his lately-learned monotheism. ‘Are you telling me that the King Akhnaten may he live is giving away the Royal Women?’

‘Yes, without dowries, within the month and only to priests of the Aten, and the Widow-Queen Tiye is very anxious