commented.
‘Yes, lady, he has just left.’
‘Many will wonder at your appointment, Ptah-hotep.’
‘Lady, they will. I am very young and I have no experience of this work, but I will learn. I will justify the trust which Pharaoh Akhnamen may he live has shown in me.’
‘My father,’ began the Princess, then abandoned the train of thought. ‘No, of course, you cannot approach my father. But should you be able—indirectly, of course—to talk to him, his words are to be cherished. The Divine Amenhotep’s reputation for wisdom is not exaggerated.’
‘Certainly not, Lady of the Two Lands. Every wise man quotes his words.’
‘Thank you,’ she accepted a cup of watered wine from Meryt. Hanufer and Khety, abandoning any pretence of work, had joined the maidens and were handing round wine-vessels. The Lady Sitamen did not seem to object to their presence, so I did not frown them back to their places.
‘The Lady Sitamen seeks a scribe to teach two young Royal Daughters,’ I said to them. ‘She needs an inquiring mind this on the orders of Queen Tiye, may she live. Have you any suggestions?’
‘From the School, Lord Ptah-hotep?’ asked Hanufer, who liked to have the rules explained before he started.
‘There, or anywhere,’ I replied.
I occupied my eyes with gazing at the Princess’ maidens. They were very like her. They were scantily clad in undecorated cloth, they looked coloured by the sun if not precisely weathered, and they looked muscular and competent. One was wearing an archer’s bracer and several carried knives. I would not have liked to approach the Princess Sitamen Great Royal Wife of Amenhotep may he live with mayhem in mind. The attendants of the lady looked capable of mincing any attacker long before he got within striking range. And they looked, to my mind, as if they might enjoy it.
However, Anubis, a war-dog, had sunk down onto his belly and seemed pleased by their company. Evidently they had no unpleasant fate in mind for me.
‘’Hotep, what about Khons?’ asked Khety, who still had not become used to our elevation in status. I stared haughtily at him, until he registered the glare and amended his mode of address. ‘I mean, my lord Ptah-hotep, Great Royal Scribe may you live, would you consider Khons for the honour?’
It was a good idea. Khons was young, he was bored, and his back bore the marks of the master’s displeasure at his endless questioning. He was supposed to go into the Priesthood of Amen-Re but they had rejected him, and he was presently considering the fact that the only temple that wished to have him was the home of the unfashionable Khnum the Potter at Hermopolis—a soggy and uncomfortable place where half the population died young of marsh-borne diseases. His only other option was to return to his village and be a market-scribe; an honourable occupation, but possibly even more tedious than the temple of Khnum. And he was a commoner’s son, as I was myself, and it pleased me to think of him instructing the Princesses.
‘Will he do?’ asked the Lady, arching an eyebrow.
‘He will, with your royal approval,’ I replied.
‘Then you may forgive your scribe for forgetting your honorifics, as he is very young and he is sorry,’ she said; and Khety grinned with relief. Had I wished, I could have had him beaten with rods for such insolence.
‘Write an order for the Master of Scribes,’ I directed. ‘Send him Ptah-hotep’s compliments and beg him to donate another student to the palace. Tell Khons to report to me and I will conduct him to the Royal Ladies Mutnodjme and Merope.’
‘Very good,’ the Princess still did not move and I wondered what else she wanted. She came to some sort of decision and gestured her attendants away.
‘Young men, show my young women the decorative features of your office,’ she ordered, and Khety and Hanufer rose obediently to exhibit my painted walls and my precious statue of Thoth made of the hardest grey granite.
The Princess waited
‘Yes, lady, he has just left.’
‘Many will wonder at your appointment, Ptah-hotep.’
‘Lady, they will. I am very young and I have no experience of this work, but I will learn. I will justify the trust which Pharaoh Akhnamen may he live has shown in me.’
‘My father,’ began the Princess, then abandoned the train of thought. ‘No, of course, you cannot approach my father. But should you be able—indirectly, of course—to talk to him, his words are to be cherished. The Divine Amenhotep’s reputation for wisdom is not exaggerated.’
‘Certainly not, Lady of the Two Lands. Every wise man quotes his words.’
‘Thank you,’ she accepted a cup of watered wine from Meryt. Hanufer and Khety, abandoning any pretence of work, had joined the maidens and were handing round wine-vessels. The Lady Sitamen did not seem to object to their presence, so I did not frown them back to their places.
‘The Lady Sitamen seeks a scribe to teach two young Royal Daughters,’ I said to them. ‘She needs an inquiring mind this on the orders of Queen Tiye, may she live. Have you any suggestions?’
‘From the School, Lord Ptah-hotep?’ asked Hanufer, who liked to have the rules explained before he started.
‘There, or anywhere,’ I replied.
I occupied my eyes with gazing at the Princess’ maidens. They were very like her. They were scantily clad in undecorated cloth, they looked coloured by the sun if not precisely weathered, and they looked muscular and competent. One was wearing an archer’s bracer and several carried knives. I would not have liked to approach the Princess Sitamen Great Royal Wife of Amenhotep may he live with mayhem in mind. The attendants of the lady looked capable of mincing any attacker long before he got within striking range. And they looked, to my mind, as if they might enjoy it.
However, Anubis, a war-dog, had sunk down onto his belly and seemed pleased by their company. Evidently they had no unpleasant fate in mind for me.
‘’Hotep, what about Khons?’ asked Khety, who still had not become used to our elevation in status. I stared haughtily at him, until he registered the glare and amended his mode of address. ‘I mean, my lord Ptah-hotep, Great Royal Scribe may you live, would you consider Khons for the honour?’
It was a good idea. Khons was young, he was bored, and his back bore the marks of the master’s displeasure at his endless questioning. He was supposed to go into the Priesthood of Amen-Re but they had rejected him, and he was presently considering the fact that the only temple that wished to have him was the home of the unfashionable Khnum the Potter at Hermopolis—a soggy and uncomfortable place where half the population died young of marsh-borne diseases. His only other option was to return to his village and be a market-scribe; an honourable occupation, but possibly even more tedious than the temple of Khnum. And he was a commoner’s son, as I was myself, and it pleased me to think of him instructing the Princesses.
‘Will he do?’ asked the Lady, arching an eyebrow.
‘He will, with your royal approval,’ I replied.
‘Then you may forgive your scribe for forgetting your honorifics, as he is very young and he is sorry,’ she said; and Khety grinned with relief. Had I wished, I could have had him beaten with rods for such insolence.
‘Write an order for the Master of Scribes,’ I directed. ‘Send him Ptah-hotep’s compliments and beg him to donate another student to the palace. Tell Khons to report to me and I will conduct him to the Royal Ladies Mutnodjme and Merope.’
‘Very good,’ the Princess still did not move and I wondered what else she wanted. She came to some sort of decision and gestured her attendants away.
‘Young men, show my young women the decorative features of your office,’ she ordered, and Khety and Hanufer rose obediently to exhibit my painted walls and my precious statue of Thoth made of the hardest grey granite.
The Princess waited
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