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various errands, who bowed respectfully and stood aside as they passed. “I do not think that we will do this much more,” Ahmose said as they neared their watersteps. “It is not good for the King to be so visible and available to the people. He must, of course, be ready to hear their problems through his judges, but in these times it is better that they do not envision him with muddy feet and sweat-stained kilt. While I am gone, have the wall enclosing the estate built higher, Aahmes-nefertari, and a solid gate put in above the watersteps so that those passing cannot look into the edge of the garden.”
    “You are planning many changes, aren’t you, Ahmose?” she said, and he nodded solemnly.
    “Yes, but first I must address the enemy in the Delta. That is my priority.” He pulled her arm through his and together they turned away from the river towards the house that lay familiar and welcoming in the afternoon heat.

2
    ON THE TWENTY-NINTH DAY of Pharmuthi the family and all the servants gathered at the watersteps on the west bank to escort Kamose to his tomb. He had given no thought to the crafting of his sarcophagus and there were none suitable in the storerooms of the House of the Dead, so the sem-priests laid his cocooned body in a plain wooden coffin carved in the shape of a man with features crudely resembling Kamose’s own and the facsimile of a kingly beard attached to the chin. His name, where it appeared, hastily painted, was not enclosed in the cartouche of royalty. Aahmes-nefertari, standing watching the coffin being lifted from the raft that had borne it across the river and loaded onto the sled that would carry it, was shocked at its anonymous poverty. He deserves better than that, she thought angrily. “Did you choose it?” she whispered to her husband over the wails of the blue-clad women around her.
    “No!” he hissed back. “I was told that he had not made provision for his coffin and there was no time to have one properly constructed and adorned. Poor Tetisheri. She will see this as just another insult to Kamose on my part.”
    “Well, it is insulting, even though it is not your fault,” she breathed. “Oh, Kamose! Forgive us all!” Ahmose did not reply. Up ahead the High Priest had begun to walk, chanting the haunting and beautiful litany for the dead, a host of acolytes with censers raised surrounding him.When his voice quavered once, Aahmes-nefertari was reminded of how he had loved Kamose, but he quickly recovered and under the power of his song the rest of the procession followed. The sled went first, drawn by the two red oxen of sacred tradition, and Aahotep, Tetisheri, Ahmose and Aahmes-nefertari followed.
    The children had been left with Raa in the house and Aahmes-nefertari missed them with a sudden pang. They would have been a promise of new life in the midst of this terrible death. She also felt the lack of Ramose’s presence. He had gone north to Khemmenu to see to the preparations for his mother’s burial there and had sent word that he could not return until tomorrow. Behind the family the servants clustered and at the rear were the professional mourners, keening and scooping up sand to place on their dishevelled heads. They were hired by custom, for the importance of the person to be buried was measured by the number of women weeping for him or her. Aahotep had engaged two hundred, every one that Weset could provide, and their sobbing and strange, wild wailing rolled across the river to be echoed by the thousands of citizens who crowded the east bank to bid their King and protector farewell.
    At least Weset loved and honoured him, Aahmesnefertari’s thoughts ran on. All at once she began to cry and, bending as she went, she took a handful of Egypt’s desert, pressing the hot grains against her palm before trickling them above her forehead and grinding them into her face.
    The barren land sloped up between the river and the high, sharp tumble of the western cliffs in a