House of Dreams (60 page)

As I replaced the stopper on the jar I reflected with a cold shiver that such knowledge had put us back on an equal footing. I had not missed the tone of new familiarity when she spoke to me. Nor had she seemed surprised or shocked when she realized with her usual astuteness just what I was doing. Could it be that she also had been one of Hui’s plotters long before I pulled myself out of the Nile and up onto the Master’s barge all those years ago? After all, had she not been in the service of Hui’s sister? Gods, I thought to myself, slumping into a chair. Am I losing my sanity? Or am I as much a victim as Ramses?

A curious suspicion began to grow in my mind and I got up and reopened my medicine chest, pawing through it to find the container that had held my supply of acacia spikes. I had ceased to use them when I had become pregnant with Pentauru and I could not remember whether there had been any left. I found the container, but only a puff of darkish dust remained.

Frowning, I stared down at it. Hui had told me that the darker colour of the spikes was due to their age since harvesting. He had assured me of their potency, but what if he had been lying? What if they had already been too stale when he gave them to me and he knew it and no longer cared because my usefulness to him was over? Oh surely not! Hui would not do such a terrible thing to me, would he? I remembered the feel of his hands on me this night, the words he had groaned in his passion as we wrestled together. Once more I closed my box firmly. No he would not. The idea was ridiculous. Hui was ruthless but not cruel. I heard Disenk’s sandals patting on the paving outside the door and was suddenly very tired. I would consider nothing more until the morning.

23

I WOKE IN THE MORNING
with my intention as steadfast as ever. I ate and drank on my couch, watching the wet-nurse suckle Pentauru, and when she had gone I cuddled and played with him before placing him on the floor to kick and gurgle while I went to be bathed and then had Disenk attend to my dressing and painting. Holding the mirror to my face I studied my reflection and marvelled that my eyes, so blue and clear, gave back to me nothing more than an innocent health. My skin glowed. My hair, glossy and shining, framed a beauty that I knew was a match for any woman in the harem. Ramses was a fool. Sighing inwardly I deliberately diverted the tumultuous and wounding emotions that followed that thought to a contemplation of Hui and me locked in passion, and the piquancy of that memory drove the bitterness away.

When Disenk had finished her ministrations, I took a small basket, laid a piece of pretty linen in it, and filled it with various cosmetic creams and potions. Among the pots and phials I placed the jar of deadly massage oil. Then I sent Disenk out to pick some flowers and to unobtrusively make sure that Hunro and Hentmira were alone together in their quarters. While I waited for her to return, I knelt beside my son and talked to him softly, delighting in the response of his foolish, unstinting smile and the clutch of his chubby fingers, so trustingly curled around mine. “Little prince,” I murmured to him. “My royal scribe. I love you,” and he crowed and chirped back at me ecstatically.

The flowers were still dewy from the water the harem gardeners had poured onto them at dawn and I shook the droplets onto my arms to feel their coolness before laying them in the basket and setting out on the short walk through my courtyard and along the path to my old building.

As I neared my old door I felt someone’s gaze fixed on me and I turned. Hatia was staring my way, her living corpse’s eyes boring into me across the sunny grass. On impulse I raised a hand and saluted her but she did not stir. Shrugging, I walked on.

Both women looked up as my shadow darkened their door, then Hentmira scrambled out of the chair in which she had been sitting and bowed. “Lady Thu!” she exclaimed in obvious confusion. “We are honoured!” Once before, she had made me feel ancient and jaded. I forced a smile.

“My greetings to you, Hentmira,” I replied smoothly. “Hunro, how are you?” The dancer had been leaning against the wall. Now she straightened, twirled her fingers, and grimaced.

“Bored and anxious, Thu,” she said. “I have pulled a muscle in my leg, and I hear from my Overseer of Cattle that a blight is working its way through my herd in the Western Delta. It is wonderful to see you.” Stepping forward she embraced me. “Forgive me for not coming to visit you,” she went on ruefully. “The harem is a strange place. Nothing but a short path separates the buildings from each other and yet there might as well be a desert between them.” Going to the door she leaned out and shouted for a runner to bring sweetmeats and wine, then she took my arm and pulled me to her couch, settling herself on it beside me. “How is your son?”

I watched Hentmira’s face and did not miss the slight withdrawing as I answered. I knew the source of it well. It was the spectre that loomed behind every moment spent as one of Pharaoh’s concubines. Answering Hunro quickly and lightly, I turned to the younger girl, retrieving the flowers from the basket and passing them to her.

“I know that the gardens abound with lovely blooms,” I said apologetically, “and you may order your servant to bring you bouquets whenever you wish, but I wanted to remind you that you are like the flowers, Hentmira, fresh and delicate, and you must do your best to stay that way.” I smiled at her as she pressed the petals to her face, blushed prettily, and lifted her dark eyes to meet mine.

“Thank you, Lady Thu,” she said. “You are gracious indeed. I am told by the other women that I have supplanted you in the King’s affections and that I must beware of you, but I think that you are kind and generous, and though I may satisfy the God’s physical needs it is not possible for someone like me to fill the privileged place you held in his heart.” I glanced at Hunro. Her face was expressionless. Pharaoh’s heart is like a cracked pot I thought scornfully. Its contents leak away as rapidly as it is filled. Reaching into the basket I drew out a small container.

“This is also for you,” I said. “It is a mixture of natron and alabaster meal with sea salt. Add a little to honey and anoint your face with it. It is very efficacious for softening the complexion.” She thanked me profusely again and I looked at her with frank curiosity.

My first impression of her as proud and haughty was fading. I had mistaken shyness and the easy grace of her body for arrogance, and with that realization came a twinge of pity and genuine liking for the girl. She fulfilled Pharaoh’s sexual fantasies perfectly, a biddable, docile virgin, and because she did so she was already placing the knife of rejection against her thin ribs. She must be like a soothing balm to Ramses after months with a scorpion, I thought ruefully. Poor Mighty Bull! Poor sweet Hentmira …

“The other things in the basket are for you, Hunro,” I said, “and if I had known you had pulled a muscle I would have included a liniment. As it is, you will find the herbs I promised you hentis ago for strengthening all the muscles, and dried myrrh and elderberries to burn. The smoke will sweeten all your linens. There is cinnamon to chew for energy and uadu-plant to add to oil and smear on your sweaty feet after you have been dancing all night!” We all laughed at that, Hentmira giggling most fetchingly. A servant entered and set out cups and wine and a dish of date-andhoney cakes and we settled down to eat, drink and gossip.

I learned more about Hentmira during that hour than I wished. She was indeed infuriatingly modest, speaking of her family and when pressed, her own accomplishments, with a winning self-effacement. She seemed entirely unaware of the impact of her beauty, which of course enhanced it greatly, and I was reminded uncomfortably of my own fall from a similarly blissful pinnacle of ignorance. She was a lamb ripe for slaughter, an innocent waiting blindly for the film to be stripped from her eyes.

Suddenly I did not want her to die. Watching the purity of her profile as she moved, the bashful glow of her almond-shaped eyes, the vulnerability of her slender shoulder bones, she gradually became a responsibility, someone to be protected and sheltered. I tried to shake off the increasing compassion I felt, reminding myself that my future was at stake, that in accepting a position in the harem she surely knew that she was also accepting its dangers, but as she leaned to touch my forearm with hesitant fingers or smiled at me with unaffected warmth I grew more uneasy. Was her engaging diffidence a mask designed to win the loyalty of those around her or was it part of a uniquely honourable character? I could not tell, and as the wine jug emptied and the last of the cakes was shared, I became ever more painfully aware of the jar of massage oil still nestling in the bottom of my basket. I did not know what to do.

But then, as Hunro yawned sleepily and we fell silent in the increasing afternoon heat, it came to me that it did not matter. Even if Hentmira survived the application of the poison she would be accused of murder and condemned to some terrible fate, probably death. I could find some reason for urging her to wear gloves when she used it, or visit Hui yet again and beg an antidote from him if such a thing existed, but then Hentmira would immediately suspect the truth and I could not change my plan. No other way of penetrating the defences that surrounded Pharaoh was open to me. I wished it was. I wished with all my heart that some other concubine, some greedy, grasping woman with no scruples, could suffer instead of Hentmira, but Ramses had eyes for no one else and I could not wait for his ardour to wane.

Perhaps she would fall ill and survive, while Pharaoh died. Perhaps her very health and youth would offer some protection, and when she recovered, her sentence would be exile. So I struggled within myself, justifying the decision that I had momentarily doubted, and in the end, with fingers that shook only a little, I withdrew the jar. I will give it to her directly, I thought. I will place it straight into her hands, my fate to hers. Will her innocence condemn her, or will a germ of suspicion cause her to ponder my motives and pour the oil away? In my distress I did not know what to hope for.

“I will leave you both to your afternoon sleep,” I said, sliding off Hunro’s couch and holding out the jar to Hentmira. “It has been a very pleasant morning and I have been happy to get to know you, Hentmira. This is for you to use when Pharaoh asks for a massage.” I gave her a smile of complicity. “He likes one after he has made love, as of course you know. I have used this blend of oils on him before and he has often remarked on its relaxing effect. There is not much here. Use it all, and if he still appreciates it I will make up some more for you.” She took it gingerly, her eyes wide.

“Thank you, Lady Thu!” she exclaimed. “You have been so kind to me, so good. I did not expect …” She faltered, dropped her gaze, then stepped to me impulsively and threw her arms around my neck. “They told me you were cold and malicious and would hate me but they were wrong. Thank you!” Through the curtain of her soft black hair draped across my face I looked at Hunro. She was no longer yawning. All drowsiness had left her and there was a lively speculation in the eyes that met mine.

“I will walk to the courtyard entrance with you, Thu,” she said, and I nodded, disengaged myself from Hentmira’s grateful arms, and picked up my basket.

“Please come and visit me, Hentmira,” I said as I left, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile that even now haunts me in the night hours when such turmoil rages in me that I cannot rest. Then Hunro linked arms with me and we made our way out onto the sun-drenched grass.

“What is in it?” Hunro asked in a low voice as we cut past the splashing fountain. I waited until the few women who had not retreated to their couches to escape the worst of the heat were out of earshot before I answered. I noticed that Hatia’s customary spot was empty though her canopy still billowed in the dry breeze.

“The Master gave it to me,” I said. “Whatever happens, Hunro, do not touch it. When Hentmira uses it Pharaoh will die.” She was quiet for a time and we approached the entrance to the path that ran beside all the harem buildings. Then she said, “And Hentmira?”

“I do not know. Neither did the Master. But I believe that at the least she will be very sick.”

“So Banemus might be coming home soon.” She withdrew her arm and pulled me around. “The Master approves this?”

“Yes. Do not worry, Hunro. Pharaoh’s food and drink will be investigated first, and by the time it has been proved harmless Paibekamun will have removed the jar and all trace of the oil. But if Hentmira is able to bring the jar back to your cell I rely on you to make it disappear.”

“You can depend on me. But it is a pity about Hentmira. She is a very estimable person. What if she survives and accuses you?” I shrugged.

“There will be no evidence left, and Egyptian justice is not summary. No one is convicted on hearsay alone. Besides, are there not other women in the harem to whom poison is an occasional tool? Will it matter once Ramses is dead?” She raised her eyebrows, smiled faintly, and turned back towards her cell.

I walked on, a lump forming in my throat. I too am an estimable person, Hunro, I thought fiercely, tears pricking behind my eyelids. I am not really cold or malicious. I am a desperate woman caught in a grim trap, forced by circumstances not of my making into detestable solutions. I can be kind. I can be selfless and generous. I can be a good friend if I am given the chance. Ask my brother. Loyal Pa-ari! He would climb onto the harem roof and shout the words for all those jealous, spiteful women to hear! Thu is a true follower of Ma’at! Thu’s heart will not judge her harshly! Thu is capable of unstinting love!