Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,60

a new tribe, with Meryt’s name.’

‘A very good custom,’ I declared. Hani patted my knee. ‘Are you not loyal to your own sister, little Princess? I have seen the way you care for her.’

‘She is the most beautiful woman in the world,’ I said, and he grunted an agreement. ‘But,’ I added, ‘what about the Desaret tribes? I have never heard of them. Who are they?’

Tani replied, ‘They are the Sharu, the Wanderers, little Princess, and civil folk enough except when they are possessed by a call. Then they sweep across the sands, screaming that their god requires them to take land or prisoners—foolish, who can take land? Land stays in one place, or it would not be land. But every now and again, they come, and then they fight like lions; even as the lion of the peak, who is called Sekmet by the Egyptians. They even have beards and hair like a lion’s mane.’

‘They are carved on the footstool of the King who stands at the pylon of that temple,’ added Teti, who had been listening with interest.

‘Oh, yes, I have seen them,’ I said, remembering. ‘Beards and long hair caught at the nape of the neck.’

‘Indeed,’ said Teti. ‘They have visionaries, and these prophets lash them into wars. One day they will attack Egypt in force, and then they will be a real menace, for they do not know when they are beaten and fight until they are all dead, for the sake of their god. My father used to say that the worst thing that could happen to a people was a new god…’

Hani reached out a huge hand laden with gold rings and clamped it over his brother’s mouth.

They all looked at me, and I had a sudden flash of power, and a stronger flash of shame. Was I to inform on these kindly men who had spoken freely in answer to a question?

‘What did you say?’ I asked Teti. ‘I didn’t hear, the trumpets are so loud.’

Ptah-hotep

I had him again, I touched his hand, I embraced his body. And by the grace of Captain Horemheb, I had a reason to take him home with me.

I don’t think that anyone in that mob of drunken, dancing, reeling worshippers could possibly have been as happy as the Chief Royal Scribe, Ptah-hotep.

We saw the god into his resting place, the temple of his wife the Divine Consort Mut. We saw the Chief Priest Userkhepesh walk into the welcoming arms of the priestess of Mut, who embraced him, kissed his mouth and led him inside. The door of the temple was shut on the bride and bridegroom and the people spread out into groups with their temple-provided beer, bread and roasted goat to sit down and feast.

I distracted myself for a while by wondering how that austere and aged man liked being kissed in plain sight of a multitude, who cried out advice as to what he should do with the Goddess Mut, how many times her should do it and in which positions. I found the idea amusing, and when I met Kheperren’s gaze he laughed, for he had been thinking just the same.

Hani was bearing the princess Mutnodjme with no apparent exertion, Tani and Teti were standing close to him, and Horemheb and his soldiers had gone off to the barracks for the returned soldier’s wash, massage and feast, all provided by the Pharaoh may he live. There was nothing for us to do but to return the little Princess and go back to the palace. The scribes, of course, could stay for the feast if they wished, in the huge tent and awning set up for the palace outside the temple.

Both Amenhotep and his royal son were in the temple, watching the mating of the gods, which had to be perfect or the Nile would not rise. This was the most important festival in the calendar, and any deviation from normal practice would have caused disaster. In view of his age and general fragility, I hoped that the Chief Priest of Amen-Re had been well nourished and rested in the days before this feast, and that the priestess was skilled and both were fitting vessels for the gods, or the omens might be truly ominous.

Kheperren was thinking the same. I could tell from his sidelong look. His eyes still crinkled when he smiled. He did not touch me but I was stingingly aware of his presence, his breath, the rise and fall of his chest,