Taheb looked inwards before replying. ‘He is a difficult man to impress. Not that I have ever tried.’
‘I may have to.’
‘Merymose is a braver man than I thought, if he is going to Kenamun of all people for the help of a former scribe of the Great Criminal!’
Taheb poured wine, which Huy was bound by etiquette to accept, though his heart resisted it. But to his surprise the drink was light, young, and faintly flavoured with honey, together with another taste, so subtle that he could not identify it. When he drank, the liquid flooded through him like sunlight.
‘To life,’ she said, toasting him.
‘To life,’ he replied.
She looked at him enigmatically for a moment, and then said, ‘I have kept you from something. You look furtive.’
He smiled. ‘I was planning to get into the palace.’
‘Then you should have come to me first. They would never let you in alone, even though you are wearing your best clothes. Who were you hoping to pass yourself off as?’ The same words might have been spoken through tight lips by the old Taheb. Now they came out spiced with delicate, ironic humour. Huy found it impossible not to relax.
‘I should have thought,’ he said. He was as sure as he could be of anything that Taheb was an ally to cultivate. Perhaps it was the effect of the enchanted drink, but he suddenly knew that what had made him hesitate before, her social rank, now seemed a ridiculous objection.
‘I know Ipuky through Amotju, and Reni and my father were business associates.’
‘Reni? You know about his daughter, then?’
‘Yes. It is a tragedy. She was so trusting. Who can be doing this? Why?’
‘There does not have to be a reason.’ But Huy looked inwards.
Taheb smiled at him. ‘You might as well ask me your questions, Huy. You are wondering how much I know, and how I know. It is because the rich in this city are in a club – news travels fast between families. It is hard to keep anything private but in this case privacy wasn’t desired. People are frantic. Those with half-grown children are beginning to panic, especially those with girls.’
‘Where are your children?’
‘I have sent them to my brother in the Northern Capital until you solve this for us.’
‘You have great faith.’
‘If it is not the work of bad gods, you will solve it.’
‘Chance is my only ally.’
‘It is not such a terrible one.’
Their words hung in the air between them. Now they were silent. The atmosphere in the room became palpable, as if it had changed to clear, viscous fluid. It was not unpleasant, and Huy wondered whether it was the effect of the wine. Every pore of his skin felt aware, as sensitive as it did after the luxury of a hot bath. He was standing by the balcony. Taheb put down her wine, stood up, and crossed towards him. She took his beaker away and placed it on the balcony wall. Now her arms rested loosely on his bare shoulders, skin against skin. It burned.
‘It’s funny,’ she murmured. ‘Amotju was so slim and tall, and you are built more like a warrior or a boatman than a scribe.’
‘My nickname at writing school was Bes. What did you put in the wine?’
‘Just a little mandrake fruit. You haven’t been in touch with me for an age, and I have wanted you since I saw you again at dinner. I wanted to be sure of you, you see.’
‘Did you take some?’
‘Of course. It heightens the fun. So they tell me. I have never tried it before.’
‘Then how did you know the right dose?’
She laughed. ‘Do you never stop asking questions? I want to feel you against me.’
Briefly her hands left him, darting behind her neck to undo a clasp. When she brought them away again, the dress fell like a curtain, revealing a strong body, broad shouldered but with slender hips and delicate breasts.
‘Do you like what you see?’
Around him, the air swam gently, and he swam in it, with her, as his kilt, his sandals, his headdress, seemed to fall away. A couch had appeared on the balcony – had it always been there? – and they were lying on it together, though he could not remember moving to it.
She leant against him, their nipples touching, caressing his thighs with hers. Perhaps by magic, her hands were flowing with lotus oil, and with it her firm fingers anointed him.
Supporting her with his right arm, his left hand strayed from her breasts to her thigh, and from there slowly completed the journey to the mouth of the Cave of Sweet Mysteries, lingering long enough to find the little temple of Min and arouse him as she began to gasp for breath, her tongue making passionate sallies into his ear. He turned his face so that their lips could join, making another temple where their tongues embraced, stroking each other, running over teeth. Opening his eyes, he noticed a bloom of perspiration on her bronze shoulder, and slid his mouth over her skin to lick it off. Then he let his head fall to her breasts, taking each as far into his mouth as he could and teasing the nipples with his tongue. He lowered his head further, until he was drinking in the sweetness of her loins with his nose and his lips, kissing and teasing, sucking the tiny proud god who reared at the entrance to the Cave as she sighed and groaned softly far above him. Then she drew him up to her, and lowered her own head to take him in her mouth, her tongue darting out in tender forays at the base of his penis, stroking his belly with her hair as her teeth gently nibbled his manhood. Later she rose too, and their lips and tongues met again, full of sweet tastes.
Their hands were busy with each other, lubricated by the lotus oil, their perspiration and the wine of Min which had entered the mouth of the Cave. She held him firmly, pumping his penis up and down slowly and rhythmically, twisting it slightly as she did so. He bit his lip to curb the god, then buried his mouth in the curve where her neck met her shoulder, smelling her smell, wanting to drown in her.
They floated to the floor. Huy clasped her buttocks, his palms pressing hard against their softness, his fingertips urgently exploring that other cave they protected. With one hand Taheb did the same, while the other guided him into her. They cleaved to each other, lips hard against lips, bodies crushed together, her heels against the small of his back, clinging there as they bucked and dived, soared and plummeted together. For two hours they made love, never leaving each other, even for the brief periods when they lay still, nibbling ears and lips gently; always delaying the splendour until the last possible moment, and always achieving it together, gasping and roaring, moaning and crying, seven times. At last they stopped, lying together, smelling the rich smell, feeling their sweat grow chill on them. Servants came, and wrapped them in soft new sheets together, and carried them to the bed which they had set up in the white room. Then they slept, hour upon hour, folded tightly together.
When he woke, it was to the sensation of her breath cool on his chest. When she woke, her eyes were like fires in the depths of the deepest wells. It was a long time before they spoke. Words had found their place.
They were of secondary importance.
FIVE
Kenamun was a tall man – too tall, with that fragile thinness which accompanies extreme height. His hands were large, with swollen knuckles and the long, nervous, hammer-ended fingers that betray a weak centre of life. They hung at the end of slender wrists and looked as if they had been tacked on to the wrong person. His head was long and bony, and so shaped that you could see all the contours of the skull beneath the skin. Here, too, the features were large, and clumsily applied: a nose like a ridge of clay, lips that recalled a Nubian’s, though set in a bitter line; a protruding blue chin and ears so prominent that they covered half the sides of his head. Only his eyes were small, and they were set so deeply in their orbits that you could not tell what colour they were. They glittered like the backs of scarabs caught in torchlight at the rear of a tomb.