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lowered itself until only its nostrils and tiny eyes could be seen, then it started for the bank. Seqenenra signalled to the servant and the skiff turned and began to glide back through the papyrus.
    “I think I remember,” Tani said doubtfully. “Did he have a beard?”
    “Yes. A small one. I believe he did not keep it long.”
    “Oh. Father, look up! A falcon!” Seqenenra followed her pointing finger. He shaved off the beard, he thought, but there was nothing he could do about his eyes, set too close together, or the clumsiness of his hands as he held the Crook and the Flail. “Go on, Behek!” Tani was urging the dog. “Jump in and swim! Call him, Hor-Aha!” Seqenenra dismissed his own pettiness and gave himself up to the pleasures of the afternoon.
    KAMOSE STARED at the scuffed, baking dirt of the practice ground now inches from his nose. He flexed his shoulders slightly, testing Si-Amun’s lock on his throat, and felt his brother’s elbow tighten against his neck. Si-Amun’s spare hand gripped Kamose’s wrists like a vise behind his back. Both young men were pouring sweat and breathing hard. Si-Amun’s harsh breath rasped in Kamose’s ear. “You still must put me on the ground,” Kamose croaked with difficulty. “My feet are firm.” If I can make him shift his centre of balance, he thought, I can throw him. Si-Amun was bent over Kamose’s slick back. Kamose let himself go slightly limp, felt his brother move imperceptibly to automatically adjust his hold, and in the second when Si-Amun’s balance was disturbed Kamose spread his legs and leaned forward. With a shout Si-Amun dove into the dust. In a flash Kamose was on him, kneeling well back on his chest so as not to be toppled forward. “Last throw,” he panted, grinning and rising, holding down a grimy hand to his brother. “I can’t believe I actually won this time.” Si-Amun pulled himself to his feet and they embraced.
    “Make the most of your victory,” Si-Amun teased him. “It will not be repeated. You won because I am not in top form today. I drank too much wine last night.”
    “Excuses.” Kamose walked to where their kilts lay in a white pile on the hot earth. “I think I am going to be the better wrestler in the end, Si-Amun. I spend a lot more time training with Hor-Aha than you do. You’re getting lazy.” He flung Si-Amun’s kilt at him and wound his own around his waist.
    “You’re right,” Si-Amun agreed good-naturedly. “I like to keep fit but I don’t want to attain the physical perfection of the soldier. I can’t see why you bother either.” He waved an arm towards the far end of the training ground where a large number of men were being drilled. The sunlight glinted on the tips of their spears and their sun-blackened, muscular bodies gleamed with oil. The sharp commands of the officer in charge came echoing to the two brothers as they watched the formation wheel smartly. “They are an expensive toy for Father,” Si-Amun went on, wiping his forehead vigorously with his kilt before fastening it in place. “Of course, the bodyguards are necessary, and a few retainers when we travel, and perhaps a spare contingent or two for the nomes when there’s trouble, but with the King’s whole army available for any serious defence, Father could send half his five hundred troops back to their homes. Supporting them drives Uni crazy.”
    “They may be needed one day,” Kamose replied, picking up his sandals and shaking them free of sand, and Si-Amun jumped on his words with an immediacy that betrayed his secret preoccupation.
    “To do what?” he snapped. “The only need Father might have for a true private army would be against the One himself and I know such thoughts are in his mind because of the way he reacted to the King’s scroll. No one is more aware than I that royal blood flows in our veins, which is why I do not understand our self-imposed exile in this lamentable burning backwater when we might be sitting