The North Wind Descends
Page 32
They all got to their knees and scraped up dust to strew on their heads in a gesture of mourning. Hani climbed heavily to his feet, sweat beginning to spring on his forehead. He thought, This is the first brick falling out of the edifice King Nefer-khepru-ra has built. Ankh-khepru-ra was supposed to outlive his brother and serve as a regent for the Haru in the nest. Now what will happen?
Nub-nefer’s face had lit up with hope. She fastened huge glowing eyes on her husband, and Hani knew she was thinking the same thing: the building is starting to crumble.
Hani stared around him, the tableau of his family fixing itself in his memory. This was not just an occasion to tie on the white headband of mourning and participate in the lavish funeral rites of a king. Something significant had shifted—far more significant than the young deceased himself, who had been none too bright and was undoubtedly under the sway of others, probably his brother—or his wife. The likelihood of civil war breaking out when the present king died had just grown immeasurably greater.
Everyone stood there, frozen, until Neferet, unable to remain silent any longer, said, “Can I stay for dinner?”
Hani finally returned to the world around him. He laid a paternal hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Of course, my duckling. Where is Bener-ib?” Her fellow sunet and friend was always to be found trailing after Neferet.
Acknowledgments
The author gratefully acknowledges all those who have helped her in the production of this book. To the wonderful women of my writers’ group, for their critique and encouragement, my thanks. To Lynn McNamee and her editorial team at Red Adept—Jessica, Sarah and Irene—profound gratitude (and Lynn, for so many other forms of help). To the flexible and talented gang at Streetlight Graphics for the cover and map. To my cousin and her husband, my technology guru: thanks, guys. To Enid, who urged me forward by her support, I can’t thank you sufficiently. And most of all to my husband, Ippokratis, who put up with the months of fixation it takes to write a novel, many, many thanks.
About the Author
N.L. Holmes is the pen name of a professional archaeologist who received her doctorate from Bryn Mawr College. She has excavated in Greece and in Israel, and taught ancient history and humanities at the university level for many years. She has always had a passion for books, and in childhood, she and her cousin (also a writer today) used to write stories for fun.
Today, since their son is grown, she lives with her husband and three cats. They split their time between Florida and northern France, where she gardens, weaves, plays the violin, dances, and occasionally drives a jog-cart. And reads, of course.