Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,61
his scent so achingly familiar and sweet.
Of all the people around us, the only one who showed any sign of being aware of what was between Kheperren and me was the little princess, sitting easily on Hani’s shoulders as though she had been riding Nubians all her life. She was looking at us, a wrinkle forming along her brow. The Lady Mutnodjme was destined to be a priestess of Isis, and such women are very observant. I moved a little distance from my dearest friend and then bit my lip, for that had given me away more surely than any stillness might have. But the Princess was watching the pylon and had seen the great gate open.
‘Amen-Re the Mighty!’ roared the crowd with their mouths full, for the presence of both Pharaohs meant that the mating had been accomplished and more free beer was about to be distributed. The Chief Priest had acquitted his task once again, and we could go back to the office.
‘Would it cause comment, Lord Ptah-hotep may you live,’ asked Kheperren, using the most formal of modes of address, ‘if I accompanied the Great Royal Scribe to his apartments and delivered my report for his most honourable attention now? I have newly returned from the borders and I am fatigued and wish to rest.’
‘It would please the Captain Horemheb to have his report earlier rather than later,’ I replied gravely. ‘Therefore we will return there now. A scribe who has been wounded in the service of the Lord of the Two Thrones deserves all consideration.
‘Hani, Tani, find the lady Mutnodjme’s teacher Khons and give her into his care, then join the feast. Meryt and Teti will come with me and join you later. Khety, Hanufer, you will wish to attend the merrymaking. Bakhenmut, I am sure that the Lady of your House will appreciate the seat of honour which has been prepared for her in the Pharaoh Akhnamen’s tent. I am awarding you my two most trusted slaves to be her escort.’
Bakhenmut gave me a grateful smile and even the unbeautiful wife unbent sufficiently to smile on me. Hani and Tani exchanged rueful glances, anticipating an afternoon of being ordered around by Bakhenmut’s wife but consoled by the amount of food they would manage to consume in the process. Everyone else seemed content. The lady Mutnodjme leaned down from Hani’s shoulder and gave me her hand and I kissed it. She squeezed my fingers a little and let go, and the household made their way through the picnicking families towards the awning under the pylon where both Kings were feasting.
Meryt and Teti escorted Kheperren and me to my office, picking up various tidbits from trays and tables on the way, which Meryt loaded into her ever-present basket. When she had come to me, she had carried a brightly coloured basket in Nubian weave, and it never left her. She said that women of her tribe were responsible for feeding the people, and picked up anything edible which they saw, and the habit had not left her.
She set out some food on a cloth on the desk, patted my cheek, and drew Teti with her to the outer office. She and Teti and Anubis sat there, cracking bones and breaking bread, while I took Kheperren into the inner rooms, shut the door and secured it.
‘Oh, my brother,’ whispered Kheperren.
I wanted to look at him, to touch him, to make love to him, all at once. Our mouths met and I was lost. My bones melted; I burned. We fled into my bed-chamber and threw ourselves down on my bed, and embraced so closely that there was no room between us, the wet skin of his belly against my belly, our hands sliding across flesh which was oiled and sweating.
We locked thighs and thrust, once, twice, and then we dissolved into an orgasm so strong that the day became night before my eyes and I thought that I had died.
I had not died, for when I awoke I saw not the face of the First Doorkeeper demanding to be named Understander of Hearts or he would not let me pass into the afterlife, but the curly hair and the dark eyes, burned now even darker by the fierce Eye of Re.
‘You look older,’ he commented, kissing my neck. ‘Severe. Quite the Great Royal Scribe, my dearest brother.’
‘So do you, quite the soldier; and oh, my heart, my love, you have been wounded!’ I stroked a gentle finger down