Scroll of Saqqara

by Pauline Gedge

  “Thank you, Khaemwaset,” she said again, gravely. “He will be excellent”

  “Good.” He clapped his hands and Ib approached. “Tell Ptah-Seankh to wait upon me immediately,” he ordered, then he waved the other servants out. “Ptah-Seankh is the soul of discretion,” he said to Tbubui. “The transaction of business should be a private matter between a woman and her scribe. We do not want servants, even those as highly trained as our own, to hear and disseminate the details of your holdings, my love. I have my own business to attend to, but send for me if you need anything more.”

  She kissed him softly on the mouth. “You are a good man,” she told him quietly. He nodded, pleased, and went away.

  Presently Ptah-Seankh was announced and came swiftly across the room, bowing, palette under one arm. Tbubui waved him up.

  “Scribe, do you know who I am?” she asked. He regarded her impassively.

  “Indeed I do, Noble One,” he replied. “You are the lady Tbubui, soon to be my master’s Second Wife. How may I serve you?”

  She smiled briefly, placed her red palms together and began to walk slowly up and down. Ptah-Seankh slipped to the floor and settled his palette across his knees, opening his pen case and shaking out a reed.

  “I want you to take an important dictation. When you have finished it you will leave the papyrus with me. I will explain further when you are done. Are you ready?”

  Ptah-Seankh shot a furtive glance at the strong ankles, the swirling linen, as she passed his line of vision. “I am ready, Highness.”

  “I am not Highness yet, Ptah-Seankh,” she retorted. “But I soon will be. I soon will be. Leave a space for the person to be addressed. We will fill it in last. Begin.”

  Ptah-Seankh dipped the reed into the black ink, his heart beginning to race. So far he had taken no dictation from his new master or anyone else in the household, and though he knew his intellect and his capabilities, he was nervous. Like all Royal Scribes he scorned the habit of making a fair copy after a rough one scrawled into wax or inked onto pieces of pottery, and he intended to take down this assignment flawlessly on the papyrus where it could not be corrected. He forced his concentration on the woman.

  “Having completed an exhaustive investigation into the lineage and blood-line of the noble lady Tbubui, her brother Sisenet and her son Harmin, having perused the ancient scrolls reposing in the sacred library of Koptos, and having myself examined the family estate and acres on the east bank of the Nile at Koptos, I, Ptah-Seankh, swear the following to be true.”

  She paused, and those flexing ankles, one of them encircled loosely with a scarab-hung gold chain, came to rest together in front of him. He was aware of them but dared not look up. His heart was now hammering in his chest and sweat had sprung out along his upper lip. He prayed feverishly that his hand might not falter. What is this? he thought, but quelled the urge to scan what he had written. A scribe was not supposed to connect the words, only to write them automatically. Yet every great scribe scanned in the event that his master might want a judgment or opinion from him. Gulping a breath, he said, “Noble One, do you wish me to scan as I write?”

  “But of course,” she said softly, her voice a purr. “I want you to know exactly what you are doing for me, Ptah-Seankh.” The words were gentle, but there was a cutting edge to them that Ptah-Seankh did not like. He gripped his pen and waited. She continued. “The estate comprises a large house of fifteen rooms with a staff of sixty house servants and the usual necessary additions of granary, kitchen, servants’ quarters, stables containing ten chariot horses, and storehouses. The estate itself, some three thousand acres of good black soil, is well irrigated for the growing of assorted grains, flax and vegetables. Five hundred acres is devoted to the raising of a herd of cattle. Are you with me, Ptah-Seankh?”

  “Yes, Noble One,” he managed, a terrible doubt in his mind. Transferring the pen to his left hand he wiped his right on a piece of linen and prepared to write again. He wished that he had stayed with his grieving mother for at least another day.

  “Then I shall go on,” that mellifluous voice with its almost undetectable accent said. The flexing feet continued to enter and leave the line of his vision, the silver tassels hanging on the hem of her sheath glittering as she paced. “As to the lady’s ancestors, they may be traced to a certain Amunmose, steward of the Pharaoh Queen Hatshepsut, who was awarded both land and the title of erpa-ha and smer, and who was ordered by her to shoulder the organization of the desert caravans from Koptos to the Eastern Sea. Amunmose’s line may be clearly traced in the library of Thoth at Koptos, decently preserved until the present day, and a copy may be obtained if necessary. But I, Ptah-Seankh, deemed the copying of this list unnecessary, given that my word to my Prince is sound. The list is also preserved in the great palace library at Pi-Ramses. I have seen the Noble One’s ancestors’ names with my own eyes.” She paused. “I think that will be sufficient, Ptah-Seankh, don’t you? And oh, the missive is to be addressed to His Highness Prince Khaemwaset. Be sure to add his titles.”

  Ptah-Seankh laid down his pen. His hand was shaking so badly that the slim tool rolled from the palette and clattered onto the floor. He looked up.

  “But Highness,” he faltered, “I have not yet been to Koptos. I leave tomorrow morning. How can I know these things and write them if I have not seen them with my own eyes?”

  She was smiling down at him, arms folded, black hair hanging. He did not like that smile. It was predatory, feral, and her small white teeth gleamed at him. “Dear Ptah-Seankh,” she said conversationally. “You are new to this household, even as I am, but there is one great difference between us. His Highness loves me fiercely. He trusts me. He is sure that he knows me. You he does not know. Your father was his friend, but he was also only a servant, as you are only a servant. You can be dismissed and ruined in the space of one day.” Her smile had broadened, and a spasm of fear shot through Ptah-Seankh. He felt as though he were gazing up at a wild animal. Her eyes were penetrating, her stance supple but tense. He swallowed convulsively and tried to speak, but nothing would come. “Soon I shall move into this house,” she went on, and her pink tongue appeared and licked her hennaed lips. “I can be a generous mistress, Ptah-Seankh, or I can whisper the poison of doubt into your master’s ears until his trust in you is destroyed. I understand very well that the link between a prince and his Chief Scribe is forged not only by competency but by discretion. Shall I begin to tell Khaemwaset that you have a loose mouth? That you spread family secrets throughout the city? That you boast of your exalted position and of the hold you have over your master? She bent lower, and now Ptah-Seankh could see the yellow flecks in her eyes. “Or shall I begin to extoll your talents to him, tell him how neat and reliable you are, how wise your comments and advice? Remember, little scribe, you are still an unknown quantity to him in spite of your father You can be destroyed.”

  Ptah-Seankh found his voice “You want me to go to Koptos and do nothing?”

  “Exactly.” Suddenly she straightened, unfolded her arms, then swooped to pick up his pen, handing it to him with a gracious gesture. “Fill in Khaemwaset’s name and titles, seal the document with your own mark. What do you use, by the way?”

  “The mark of Thoth. The baboon sitting on a moon,” he stammered, and she nodded.

  “Oh yes, of course. Well, do it, and give the scroll to me. When you return from Koptos you will come first to my house and I will give it back to you. Then you will give it to the Prince.”

  “Noble One, this is contemptible!” Ptah-Seankh choked out, furious and afraid, knowing that all she said was true and if he wanted a long and prosperous career in the Prince’s generous service he would have to do as she requested. The act would poison him, he realized. It would be a dirty secret between himself and this unscrupulous woman that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  “Is it contemptible to give the Prince what he wants?” she asked, sweetly reasonable. “Surely not. He desires me and
will marry me no matter what, but how much happier he will be to do so with the approval of both history and Ramses.”

  Ptah-Seankh could say no more. He took the pen and quickly finished the scroll, then he passed it up to her. Taking it, she indicated that he might rise. He did so, fighting to stilt the trembling in his knees. “Remember,” she said, “not one word of this to anyone, even when you are drunk. If you speak of it, and I find out, I will not only disgrace you, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  He did. Brushing those implacable, determined eyes with his own he was convinced that she was capable of doing as she said. She must have seen her threat go home, for she pursed her lips, satisfied. “Good. Now tell the herald waiting in the passage to go and announce me to the Princess Nubnofret. I must pay my respects.”

  With all the dignity he could muster, Ptah-Seankh gathered up his palette, bowed and left the room. Any respect and admiration he might have had for her died even as he was closing the door politely behind him, and he knew that he would be at the beck and call of a woman he hated for the rest of his working life.

  THE HERALD’S VOICE had scarcely ceased to echo in the high ceiling of Nubnofret’s quarters when Wernuro ushered Tbubui forward. Nubnofret rose from the chair where she had obviously been inspecting the household accounts. At a word her steward gathered up the mess of scrolls on the table behind which he had been standing, bowed to both women and backed out of the room.

  Nubnofret went forward unsmiling, and Wernuro closed the doors and settled herself in a corner. One other servant hovered discreetly just out of earshot. Nubnofret waved Tbubui further into the room.

  “I received the message that you were coming,” she said curtly, “and I apologize for greeting you so hastily, Tbubui. Today is the day I go over the expenditures for the house with my steward, and we have barely finished.” Her eyes flicked over the other woman’s attire without expression and returned to her face. Tbubui bowed.

  “And I apologize for coming at such an inauspicious time,” she responded with equal gravity. “I do not intend to waste your time, Princess. I believe that the Prince has told you of his decision to make me his Second Wife.”

  Nubnofret nodded, her good manners freezing into an icy politeness. One did not bring up such matters so abruptly. Traditionally, the soon-to-be Second Wife waited for an invitation from the Chief Wife to officially enter the house and inspect the quarters prepared for her, or if the Chief Wife neglected her duty in presenting the invitation, she spent several hours in idle and light conversation before hesitantly and very carefully bringing up the subject of the marriage. The brief flare of friendship Nubnofret had felt for Tbubui had died long ago, and now it was being nailed into its coffin.

  “I wished to come and visit you as soon as possible,” Tbubui went on, “to assure you of my respect and affection and to tell you that nothing will change here in your home.”

  You impudent bitch, Nubnofret thought viciously. You swagger in here without being asked and then you have the gall to condescend to me.

  “Please be seated if you wish,” she said aloud. “Would you like some refreshment?” It was not her custom to ask. Usually guests would be immediately offered a variety of food and drink. She had the satisfaction of seeing a slight flush creep into Tbubui’s cheeks, though her calm gaze did not falter.

  “How kind of you,” Tbubui said. Nubnofret did not miss the faint whiff of sarcasm in the gracious words. “But the heat quite snatches my appetite away.” She had not sat down. She remained on her feet, confident and effortlessly lovely, and Nubnofret had to crush an instant of pure, undiluted jealousy.

  “I am sorry,” she replied swiftly before she was able to help herself. “I was under the impression that you loved the heat.”

  Tbubui lifted one bare shoulder prettily and laughed. “I do indeed love it,” she admitted, “for it compels me to eat less and thus maintain my weight.”

  One blow for you, Nubnofret thought, looking at the slim and faultless body. She smiled without warmth, a courtier’s smile, and, cocking her head to one side, deliberately waited for Tbubui to go on. She was determined not to bring up the matter of the marriage, and for a moment there was an impasse. I can play this game better than you, Nubnofret thought again. I was born to it. I could have forgiven you your beauty, for that is not of your own making. I could have forgiven you for stealing Khaemwaset’s heart away from me. But I can never forgive you your common, cheap, bad manners. As she had expected, it was Tbubai who gave in first.

  “‘Highness, we were once friends,” she broke the silence, “but today I detect a small withdrawal on your Highness’s part.” She took a step towards Nubnofret and spread her hands in an appealing gesture. “My protestations of respect and affection are honest. I have no intention of interfering in matters of your authority.”

  Nubnofret raised her eyebrows. “I fail to see how you could interfere even if you wanted to,” she said. “I have lived with Khaemwaset for many years. I know him as you do not; moreover, the ordering of the household and the regulating of the lives of other wives and concubines belongs to a Chief Wife. Any changes are made by me. As to your respect and affection, well …” she paused, … “if you are wise you will work towards acquiring both from me, or your life could well be a trifle uncomfortable. We must learn to live together, Tbubui. I think we should agree to a polite truce. Let us begin with honesty.” She accented the last word. Tbubui was watching her warily, the veneer of coyness gone and replaced by a critical coldness. Her face had become mask-like. Nubnofret folded her arms. “I do not think you are good for my husband,” she went on with a deliberate steadiness she did not really feel. “He has neglected his work and his family and has been in some agony of mind because of you. Do not forget that the violence of infatuation can turn to disgust very quickly, so I advise you to tread carefully around me. Khaemwaset cares little for the running of this estate. He has always left that to me. He will continue to do so. If you attempt to interfere, if you run to him with petty grievances, you will first bore and then annoy him. If you co-operate, you will be welcome here. I certainly have more to do than worry about your comfort. Do you understand?”

  Tbubui had listened intently, her skin paling to a sallow tightness so that she gradually seemed to become all eyes and thinning mouth. But when Nubnofret had finished speaking she took two more gliding steps that brought her face inches from Nubnofret’s own. Her breath when she spoke was cold and unpleasant.

  “What you fail to understand, Highness, is the depth of your husband’s obsession with me,” she said in a low, forceful voice. “It is no infatuation, I promise you. I am in his vitals, not you. If you try to discredit me you will come to grief. From now on, no one will be able to speak against me to him, for I have his complete trust. He is mine, body, mind, and ka. I have my hands between his legs, Princess, just where he likes it. If I caress, he will purr. If I squeeze, he will yelp in agony. But make no mistake, he is mine to do with as I wish.”

  Nubnofret was almost faint with shock. She had seldom seen such venom in her life, or heard such words. This woman was something wild, something completely lacking in human conscience or decency, and for the space of one breath Nubnofret was shaken by a gush of terror. She knew that what the woman said was true. Then she rallied. “I do not believe that you care for my husband at all,” she said coldly. “You are nothing but a greedy peasant with the heart of a whore. You are dismissed.”

  Tbubui moved away and bowed. She was smiling now, though her attitude was deferential. “It is not a whore’s heart that I have, Princess,” she remarked as she backed down the room. “I seem to have offended your Highness. I do apologize.” Wernuro had scrambled to her feet and was holding the door open. With a last bow Tbubui straightened and glided out of sight

  15

  I speak of a great matter,

  and cause that ye shall hearken.

  I give unto you a thought for eternity,

  a rule of life for li
ving in righteousness

  and for spending a lifetime in happiness.

  Honour the King, the Eternal …

  A SUBDUED AND QUIET Ptah-Seankh left for Koptos the following day, armed with Khaemwaset’s written instructions on the procedure he was to follow, and the family settled into the period of mourning. Their loss had not brought them together, indeed without music, entertainments or the feasting of guests, the bare bones of their estrangement from one another began to show through, stark and cruel. Nubnofret had completely withdrawn from them all. Hori, too, had retreated into his private hell where even Sheritra, though they spent much time together, could not follow.

  Khaemwaset seemed oblivious to it all. Most days he disappeared in the afternoons, unremarked by all save Nubnofret, who did not comment, and he would return for the evening meal bemused and monosyllabic. Nubnofret suspected that he spent the time on Tbubui’s couch, and she abhorred the breaking of the mourning rules, but proudly said no word. Khaemwaset would have liked to order the work on the addition to continue, but that stricture he dared not break. The workmen went back to their villages and the half-finished, unpainted walls stood amid a tumble of waiting bricks and rank grass, baking in the summer sun.

  Sheritra had sent a letter to Harmin with her love and an apology and had received a short note in return. “Be assured of my deepest devotion, Little Sun,” it had said. “Come and see me when you can.” She had carried it about with her for days, tucked into her belt, and when the forlornness that had become the predominant mood of the house threatened to overtake her, she would pull it out and read it, raising it to her lips. At those times she would feel a resurgence of the anger that had shaken her on the morning she had, in all ignorance, come home to see Hori.

  The remainder of the seventy days of mourning dragged to a close, and Nubnofret began to make plans for the impending journey to Thebes. She remained encased in frigid correctness, and Khaemwaset left her alone. Before he and the rest of the family walked up the ramp into the capacious barge he received word from Ptah-Seankh in Koptos, letting him know that the work was progressing satisfactorily, his father was being beautified with all due care and respect, and he would not be delayed in returning to Memphis with the information his master had requested. Khaemwaset was relieved. He had somehow irrationally believed that some disaster would befall Ptah-Seankh also, that he was fated never to welcome Tbubui into his home with all clauses of the contract fulfilled, but this time all was going smoothly.