through and I strode the sandy path that snaked between thick shrubbery. A straight line would have brought me quickly to the house’s imposing, pillared façade but Takhuru’s father had laid out his estate to give an impression of more arouras than he really had. His walkways curved around stands of doum palms, ornamental pools and oddly shaped flower beds before leading to the broad paving of his courtyard, and the building itself could not be seen until one had turned the last bend. The affectation amused my father, who said that the estate reminded him of a mosaic designed by an overly enthusiastic faience worker intent on giving those who saw it a headache. He had not, of course, made the remark in public. I found the effect slightly suffocating.
If the grounds were crowded with foliage and various embellishments, the interior of the house seemed always empty, cool and spacious, its tiled floors and star-spangled ceilings breathing an old-fashioned peace and gentility. Furnishings were sparse, simple and costly, the servants well trained, efficient and as silent as the polite air through which they moved. One glided towards me as I walked into the hall. Good manners demanded that I pay my respects to Takhuru’s parents before seeking her out, but the man informed me that they had gone to dine on the river with friends. The Lady Takhuru could be found on the roof. Thanking him I retraced my steps and took the outside stairs.
In spite of the fact that the sun had now set and the streamers of red light being dragged rapidly towards the west held little heat, my betrothed was sitting in deep shadow against the eastern wall of the windcatcher, half-buried in cushions. Though she was cross-legged, her spine did not touch the brick, her narrow shoulders did not slump, and the filmy folds of her yellow sheath decorously hid her knees. Beside her were her gold-thonged sandals, set neatly together. To her right, a tray held a silver flagon, two silver cups, two napkins and a dish of sweetmeats. Before her the sennet game waited, each playing piece on its appointed square. Hearing me come, she turned her head and smiled happily, but that rigid little back did not bend. Her mother, I reflected as I approached, would have approved. Taking her hand, I pressed my cheek against hers. She smelled of cinnamon, an expensive but pleasant addiction she had, and of lotus oil.
“I am sorry to be later than I intended,” I said to forestall the expected complaint. “I arrived home dirty and very tired, and when I had bathed I slept longer than I should.” She affected a pout, and releasing her fingers she waved me down opposite her, the sennet board between us. She was wearing the bracelet I had given her last year when we were officially pledged to one another, a thin circlet of electrum around whose rim tiny golden scarabs marched. It had cost me a month of labour amongst the cattle belonging to the High Priest of Set during my leisure hours, and it looked beautiful on her elegant wrist.
“Providing you dreamed about me, I don’t mind,” she replied. “I have missed you a lot, Kamen. All I do from dawn to dusk is think about you, especially when Mother and I are ordering linen and dishes for our home. Last week the wood carver called. He has finished the set of chairs we ordered and he wants to know how much gilding to use on the arms and whether the rests are to be decorated or left plain. I think plain, don’t you?” She raised her black eyebrows and the flagon of wine at the same time, hesitating until I nodded. I watched her white teeth catch a portion of her lower lip as she poured, and her dusky eyes, heavily kohled, met mine. I took the cup and sipped. The wine was delicious, bringing a rush of saliva to my mouth. I swallowed appreciatively.
“Plain or fancy, I don’t really care,” I began, and then seeing her crestfallen expression, I realized my mistake. “I mean that I cannot afford much beyond simple
If the grounds were crowded with foliage and various embellishments, the interior of the house seemed always empty, cool and spacious, its tiled floors and star-spangled ceilings breathing an old-fashioned peace and gentility. Furnishings were sparse, simple and costly, the servants well trained, efficient and as silent as the polite air through which they moved. One glided towards me as I walked into the hall. Good manners demanded that I pay my respects to Takhuru’s parents before seeking her out, but the man informed me that they had gone to dine on the river with friends. The Lady Takhuru could be found on the roof. Thanking him I retraced my steps and took the outside stairs.
In spite of the fact that the sun had now set and the streamers of red light being dragged rapidly towards the west held little heat, my betrothed was sitting in deep shadow against the eastern wall of the windcatcher, half-buried in cushions. Though she was cross-legged, her spine did not touch the brick, her narrow shoulders did not slump, and the filmy folds of her yellow sheath decorously hid her knees. Beside her were her gold-thonged sandals, set neatly together. To her right, a tray held a silver flagon, two silver cups, two napkins and a dish of sweetmeats. Before her the sennet game waited, each playing piece on its appointed square. Hearing me come, she turned her head and smiled happily, but that rigid little back did not bend. Her mother, I reflected as I approached, would have approved. Taking her hand, I pressed my cheek against hers. She smelled of cinnamon, an expensive but pleasant addiction she had, and of lotus oil.
“I am sorry to be later than I intended,” I said to forestall the expected complaint. “I arrived home dirty and very tired, and when I had bathed I slept longer than I should.” She affected a pout, and releasing her fingers she waved me down opposite her, the sennet board between us. She was wearing the bracelet I had given her last year when we were officially pledged to one another, a thin circlet of electrum around whose rim tiny golden scarabs marched. It had cost me a month of labour amongst the cattle belonging to the High Priest of Set during my leisure hours, and it looked beautiful on her elegant wrist.
“Providing you dreamed about me, I don’t mind,” she replied. “I have missed you a lot, Kamen. All I do from dawn to dusk is think about you, especially when Mother and I are ordering linen and dishes for our home. Last week the wood carver called. He has finished the set of chairs we ordered and he wants to know how much gilding to use on the arms and whether the rests are to be decorated or left plain. I think plain, don’t you?” She raised her black eyebrows and the flagon of wine at the same time, hesitating until I nodded. I watched her white teeth catch a portion of her lower lip as she poured, and her dusky eyes, heavily kohled, met mine. I took the cup and sipped. The wine was delicious, bringing a rush of saliva to my mouth. I swallowed appreciatively.
“Plain or fancy, I don’t really care,” I began, and then seeing her crestfallen expression, I realized my mistake. “I mean that I cannot afford much beyond simple
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