Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,15

my lord will be pleased to consider who may deserve the honour of a place in my Lord’s household. Tonight my lord needs rest.’

I drank wine red as blood and ate some meat and bread. I heard Meryt shaking out bedclothes, humming to herself and then singing softly. Light bloomed golden as she lit the big alabaster lamp in the shape of an ibis, symbol of Thoth God of Learning, patron of scribes.

‘Come, Master, it’s all well,’ she called, and I took my wine into my bedroom.

‘Meryt, eat,’ I said belatedly, and she hauled the basket into the room and closed the studded door. It latched with a click and I suddenly felt a good deal more secure. The bed was comfortable and I leaned against the painted wall and began to relax for the first time since I had entered my apartments.

Meryt sat down cross legged on the floor and ate. I liked watching her strong white teeth as she bit and swallowed, saying, ‘I never fed this well, Master, since I came to Pharaoh’s palace!’

‘How did you come here?’ I asked. I needed to know all about her, this woman whom I had so casually bought and paid for.

‘My father was a chief,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘He ambushed and killed a trading mission. Then the soldiers came, killed our young men, captured us and burned our village. I was a child. I have always been hungry since then. Not starving, Master, no slave starves in the palace. But there has always been a corner that could be filled. When I grew tall I showed a talent for healing, and the Chamberlain made me his healer, to attend to the slaves.’

So, taking me to Meryt had been an insult. It had, however, not been recognised at the time, which meant that its aim had been bad. And it had given me Meryt, who liked me. And if my estates sufficed to continue to feed her to satiety, she would probably be faithful. I was pleased with the outcome of my first insult in Pharaoh’s service, and sure that it would not be the last.

‘And then you bought me from that old man and here I am,’ she concluded, breaking the last cinnamon cake and giving half to me. ‘And I am yours, Master.’

I bit into the cinnamon cake and returned the grin.

I lay with her in the Great Royal Scribes’ bed, and refused her offer of her body. She was a little puzzled, but not offended, and we huddled close and warm until morning.

I woke with an arm over my chest. For a moment I was flooded with affection, believing that I lay with Kheperren, then I heard a woman cough, and realised that it was Meryt my slave and that I had to get up and assemble a household.

I was drinking warmed wine and nibbling a honeycake when I heard someone come in and kneel down. I looked up from the last census, which seemed to have been carried out with commendable efficiency, and saw the one I loved more than any other in the world. He was prostrate, his hand touching my foot, as any scribe should be before the Great Royal Scribe.

‘Meryt!’ I called. ‘Shut the outer door and stand guard!’ and as she ran to draw the big portal closed, I seized my dearest companion, dragging him into my arms. He fitted perfectly into my embrace, as he always had.

‘Oh my heart,’ I said into his hair. He hugged me for a moment, his fingers digging into my shoulder, and then whispered ‘ ‘Hotep, why did you not send for me?’

‘Because that would have meant your death, and still may if any marked you coming here.’

‘I don’t think so,’ his brow corrugated, as it always did when he was thinking. ‘I did not need to ask the way. I have been here before, when I took a message for the Master of Scribes to the old Royal Scribe. No one would have noticed me, particularly. What do you mean, I’m in danger? That means that you are in danger!’ He held me closer, his mouth against my jaw. ‘Let me stay with you,’ he begged.

‘No, I can’t, don’t ask me, brother of my heart. I love you too much to put you in such peril.’

His scent was on my skin, the dear scent of my own brother, and I allowed myself a moment to hold him tight, as though I could imprint his body on