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your fair city. May I suggest something honoring Sobek?”
    “Naming the place will be up to Pharaoh and the gods.” He grinned. Talking to Ema about his plans and dreams for the city he knew he could build if given the chance was exhilarating. He couldn’t remember any other conversation with a woman that produced such feelings. Court ladies might feign an interest in his civic engineering for a few moments, before they retired to the shade to nap in boredom. She challenged him as if she were going to be a partner in the construction. “But for now I suggest we have lunch.”
    “And after lunch?”
    Anticipating her question, he felt a smile coming on. “It’ll be time to drive back to your temple and yes, I’ll give you the first lesson about handling chariot horses.”
    As they strolled toward the palm trees and the horses, Tyema pursued the subject a bit further. “Are you going to teach me to harness them properly? Not today obviously, but at some point?”
    He was surprised. “Do you wish to learn? Surely you’ll hire a trained team of stable keepers, since deben must not be an object.”
    “If I’m going to spend the temple’s deben on something, I need to understand all aspects of the investment,” she said, her voice brisk. “How else can I be sure things are being done properly in the future?”
    “A fair point.” She’s as thorough about this as she is about everything, apparently. “ Very well, I’ll treat you as we do the cadets at the military academy and drill you thoroughly on all the procedures, not just handling the reins.”
    ***
    The week sped by, became two weeks. Tyema conducted her ceremonies and her official duties as efficiently as ever, although she did delegate an unusual number of tasks to her most trusted underpriestess and even a few things to the young priest who’d just transferred in from another nome, which raised Jemkhufu’s eyebrows. On the appointed days, Sahure would sweep up to the temple gates in his chariot, the horses full of energy and ready to run, and off they’d go, Tyema dressed in simple clothing, Sahure in his workaday uniform.  
    Each evening when they ate their picnic dinners, packed by the staff at the Blue Crocodile, he regaled her with stories from his wide ranging travels and what he admitted were heavily edited versions of his times in battle, fighting by Pharaoh’s side. Sahure made it clear he admired their ruler’s skills as a warrior. “Nat-re-Akhte is a tremendous commander, wily, fearless in battle. When we went against an incursion by Mitanni forces in the north a few years ago, it was our chariots versus theirs. Pharaoh led the way and I was privileged to be assigned to his right flank. In battle, each war chariot has a driver and an archer, you know.”
    “So you’re an expert bowman as well?” Tyema said. “I’d like to see a demonstration some day.”
    “You may have noticed I keep my war bow and a full quiver of arrows on the chariot at all times.” He rose from the blanket where their dinner was spread out and returned a moment later with a gleaming recurved bow and one arrow. Making the movements seem effortless, he strung the bow. “After we eat I’ll be glad to do some target shooting for you. But you’ll have to help me retrieve the arrows. Can’t waste weaponry.”
    “Gladly, although I have a feeling you’re being too modest. You probably don’t miss what you’re aiming for very often.” Tyema held out her hands. “May I see the bow?”
    “Can’t afford to miss the target in combat.” He handed the weapon over and sat down, picking up his mug of beer. “Try to pull the bowstring,” he invited.
    Struggling against the tension of the bow, Tyema found she could only move the string a few inches. “Clearly I’m not meant to be an archer.”
    “We train endlessly for a reason,” Sahure said. He thumped one bicep with his fist. “It takes awhile to gain the strength to use a bow well and then the power