Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,32

at palace functions or feasts. Her charities were legendary. She had endowed a school of priestesses for the temple of the Divine Huntress Neith, sister of Isis, out of her own fortune, telling her ladies, ‘Melt down a few thousand bracelets, I do not wish to wear anything more decorative than my skin.’ Or so it was said. She certainly wore nothing more than a scant cloth, no jewellery except her badges of rank, and plain sandals such as common people wear.

And her own skin was very decorative. She glowed with health, though she was bronzed with weather, unlike the pale ladies of the palace.

‘I am here on my mother’s errand,’ she began briskly. ‘Her labour began an hour ago, but she does not forget promises. I need a scribe for the Royal Daughter Mutnodjme and a little Great Royal Wife called Merope, a barbarian princess. My mother suggests a young man, because they are both inquisitive and mischievous maidens, and would disconcert anyone older. Unless you can think of an older man who has a flexible mind?’

‘I have never met one,’ I confessed. ‘I am honoured by the Great Royal Lady’s trust. I will find her a suitable scribe. I will appoint someone, or I will come myself.’

‘Good.’ She had discharged her errand but she did not seem to be thinking of leaving. Her maidens had arranged themselves around her on the floor and Meryt had already sent a slave to fetch more wine and cold water. In future we would have to keep a greater store of provisions in the office. There was room enough in the empty rooms at the back.

‘I saw that my brother was with you,’ she commented.

‘Yes, lady, he has just left.’

‘Many will wonder at your appointment, Ptah-hotep.’

‘Lady, they will. I am very young and I have no experience of this work, but I will learn. I will justify the trust which Pharaoh Akhnamen may he live has shown in me.’

‘My father,’ began the Princess, then abandoned the train of thought. ‘No, of course, you cannot approach my father. But should you be able—indirectly, of course—to talk to him, his words are to be cherished. The Divine Amenhotep’s reputation for wisdom is not exaggerated.’

‘Certainly not, Lady of the Two Lands. Every wise man quotes his words.’

‘Thank you,’ she accepted a cup of watered wine from Meryt. Hanufer and Khety, abandoning any pretence of work, had joined the maidens and were handing round wine-vessels. The Lady Sitamen did not seem to object to their presence, so I did not frown them back to their places.

‘The Lady Sitamen seeks a scribe to teach two young Royal Daughters,’ I said to them. ‘She needs an inquiring mind this on the orders of Queen Tiye, may she live. Have you any suggestions?’

‘From the School, Lord Ptah-hotep?’ asked Hanufer, who liked to have the rules explained before he started.

‘There, or anywhere,’ I replied.

I occupied my eyes with gazing at the Princess’ maidens. They were very like her. They were scantily clad in undecorated cloth, they looked coloured by the sun if not precisely weathered, and they looked muscular and competent. One was wearing an archer’s bracer and several carried knives. I would not have liked to approach the Princess Sitamen Great Royal Wife of Amenhotep may he live with mayhem in mind. The attendants of the lady looked capable of mincing any attacker long before he got within striking range. And they looked, to my mind, as if they might enjoy it.

However, Anubis, a war-dog, had sunk down onto his belly and seemed pleased by their company. Evidently they had no unpleasant fate in mind for me.

‘’Hotep, what about Khons?’ asked Khety, who still had not become used to our elevation in status. I stared haughtily at him, until he registered the glare and amended his mode of address. ‘I mean, my lord Ptah-hotep, Great Royal Scribe may you live, would you consider Khons for the honour?’

It was a good idea. Khons was young, he was bored, and his back bore the marks of the master’s displeasure at his endless questioning. He was supposed to go into the Priesthood of Amen-Re but they had rejected him, and he was presently considering the fact that the only temple that wished to have him was the home of the unfashionable Khnum the Potter at Hermopolis—a soggy and uncomfortable place where half the population died young of marsh-borne diseases. His only other option was to return to his village and be a