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pressed it to my chest under the moonlight, half-naked, her strange eyes burning in her shadowed face, that something more than a naïve compassion had moved me, but a peculiar thing happened. I had never lied to my father, not once. My tutors had drummed into me the serious nature of lying. The gods did not like deceit. Deceit was a refuge of weakness. A man of virtue told the truth and took the consequences. As a child I had told the lies of anger and panic—No, Father, I did not hit Tamit because she was teasing me—but I had usually retracted those lies when pressed and taken my punishment, and as I grew older there was no need for retractions. I loved and trusted the man who was regarding me so solemnly, yet as I sat there staring back at him, the conviction began to grow in me that I must lie to him. Not because I was ashamed of giving in to the madwoman’s desperation, no. Not because my father might be annoyed or might laugh. Not even because he might demand to see the box, might open it, might … Might what? I did not know why the truth had to be hidden from him. I just knew in the depth of my ka that to admit that the box even now lay on my couch upstairs would be to end … end what? Damn it, end what?
    “Of course I did not take it,” I answered coolly. “I pitied her but did not wish to feed her madness. The situation was very embarrassing though.” And I had better make up some story for Pa-Bast, I told myself suddenly, in case he mentions the box in casual conversation. Not likely but possible. Although my father’s stance did not change, I sensed a loosening in him.
    “Good!” he said briskly. “We must cherish the insane as favourites of the gods but we must definitely not encourage their insanity.” He rose. “I managed to obtain antimony on the last trip,” he went on, changing the subject completely, “and a large amount of sage herb from Keftiu. The Sabaeans sold my caravan Steward a small quantity of yellow powder they call ginger. I have no idea to what use it may be put. I am going to visit the Seer in person after the sleep. The antimony is for him and he will pay a good price for it, but I am hoping he takes this ginger as well.” Coming around the desk, he slapped me heartily on the back. “You stink,” he said amiably. “Take a bath, a mug of beer and a rest. If you have the energy, dictate a letter to your mother and sisters in the Fayum. Too bad you were unable to take the detour on the way home and visit them.” I was dismissed. Standing and hugging him, feeling his strong arms through the thin linen of his shirt, I ruthlessly quelled the seed of shame inside me. I left the office feeling all at once very tired.
    Crossing the reception hall, I went through the centre door and mounted the stairs beyond to where the sleeping quarters were. My room was to the right, with two large windows. Because the upper storey of the house was smaller than the lower, I could step out onto the roof of the lower storey if I wanted, walk to the parapet, and look down upon the granaries, the servants’ courtyard, the formal entrance and beyond the main wall the craft-choked Waters of Avaris. To the left of the head of the stairs were my sisters’ rooms which overlooked the north side of the garden and straight ahead were the double doors behind which my parents slept. My door swung wide to my touch and with thankfulness I went inside.
    The box sat on the fresh linen of my couch, smugly dominating this, my sanctuary, and before I stripped the limp and dirty kilt from my waist so that I could go down to the bath house, I grasped it by a handful of those odd knots with which it was secured and flung it into one of my cedar chests, letting the lid fall with a thud. I still had no idea what to do with it. Even unseen it contaminated the air. “To Set with you,” I said under my breath to the woman who had already caused me so much inconvenience, for Set was the red-haired god of chaos and