Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,81

She had occupied her days in a companionable feud with Bakhenmut’s wife Henutmire. They each required more and more jewels of their respective husbands, and I reached an agreement with Bakhenmut that I should provide new trinkets for both, so that he was not driven to peculation or theft to supply Henutmire’s greed. Hunero had been fourteen when I married her out of her father’s house, and she had seemed happy with me. All my love was still given to my dearest Kheperren, who managed a visit to the capital at least once a year. But Hunero seemed content with what I could give her and the skills which Meryt had taught me had pleased her body. She had conceived twice, both children being miscarried before they were well-formed, and then the fever which had ravaged the City of the Sun had taken her away.

Now the rooms where she had lived seemed empty and cold, and I had closed off that part of my apartments.

But the woman who lay down with me and listened without exclamation to the death of Khons, she was a different matter from the meek little mouse who had been sold to me by a connection of Divine Father Ay’s whether she would or no. Once Priestess of the dissolved cult of the so-called goddess Isis, the Lady Mutnodjme was strong willed and strong minded and meat for no man’s bargain. Her arms were strong and her breast very soft and I rested my aching head in her embrace without fear. It was only when I woke from a light doze, which I had not meant to take, and found that she was still there, holding me gently without any sign of impatience, that I realised how badly I had missed a friend and how beautiful she was.

I had been afraid—not terrified, but afraid, watching every expression on every face, tasting every drop and nibbling every crumb and especially examining every word for heresy before I allowed it to leave my lips, for so long now that I only realised the extent of the strain when it relaxed.

The Lady left me with an ostentatious kiss in front of the whole staff, promising to come again, and I gave orders that she should always be admitted whenever she wanted.

Khety, very happy in his wife and four sons, smiled at me. Hanufer, as stolidly pleased with his three children as he had been with his faithful and unimaginative wife, nodded. Bakhenmut, cursed with Henutmire’s greed and shrill nagging, raised an eyebrow as if asking me was I sure that I wanted to do this again, having escaped unscathed last time? Meryt and the Nubians grinned. Meryt had liked Mutnodjme since childhood, and Hani still talked about being ridden, for this had given the three men an acquaintance with General Horemheb, now famous for his courage and strategic skill. They always went out to meet the General when he returned to report to the palace, and joined in the athletic contests—and the feasts—which the soldiers conducted. Mentu, who was visiting us because he had broken an arm in a chariot accident, clapped me on the back.

‘Well-chosen,’ Mentu said. ‘A close relative of the Divine Royal Spouse and therefore unassailable; another guard for your back, my dear Ptah-hotep.’

‘Also, she is very beautiful,’ I reminded him. He grinned.

‘There is that, also. Though you should come and see my new dancers. Blonde, I swear, not bleached, and they dance with bells on their feet.’

‘Perhaps later. Khety, we are supposed to get copies of all the orders issued from the Master of the Household’s office. Do we have the order which closed the school of scribes?’

‘No, Lord,’ Khety searched through a huge pile of documents. ‘The tax returns have come in from all of the Nomes, there is a difficulty with some walls and bridges which need to be repaired, a woman gave birth to a goat in one village…no, nothing from the Master of the Household’s office at all.’

‘Mentu, take my compliments to my lord Pannefer and inform him that you are there with Hani and Tani. They are to carry back all the copies of the orders which he has issued and forgotten to send to me—doubtless through pressure of business. Can you do it without getting anyone executed?’

‘Certainly,’ Mentu assured me. Sending Mentu was, of course, an insult to the commoner which Pannefer had been. Mentu, however dissolute, had been schooled from babyhood in the subtle nuances of rank, which