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jewellery not so much an adornment as a part of what they were, aristocrats to their core. Kamose, relaxing among his own kind, found no lack of general conversation, while Ahmose exchanged views on hunting with Ankhmahor’s sons and expressed his regret that he would not be able to take advantage of Aabtu’s abundance of ducks and wild game, much of which had found its way, transformed and delectable, onto the succession of dishes placed before him.
    Ankhmahor is brave to put all this in jeopardy, Kamose thought. For us it is a matter of survival or destruction, but he could go on enjoying this security for ever. As though the Prince had read his musings, he looked across at Kamose and smiled. “It is perhaps an illusion, is it not, Majesty?” he said. “My Abetch nome is rich and I live well. But always there is the shadow of the future, because I refuse to leave it in the hands of a minor noble and attend Apepa at court in the Delta. When Apepa passed through Aabtu on his way to pass judgement upon your House, he stopped here for a day and a night. I entertained him well, but I do not think he was pleased.” He paused to drink, his long throat working delicately against the golden filigreed necklaces he wore. “His eyes missed nothing. The abundant fertility of my arouras in granaries and storehouses, the opulence of my estate, the beauty and grace of my family, and perhaps above all, the contentment of my peasants and servants. I gave him no cause for complaint and yet I sensed distrust in him.” Ankhmahor shrugged. “I think without your war I might have looked forward to the same slowly intensifying harassments that drove your father to his desperate measures.”
    “Apepa does not like to be reminded of his foreign roots,” Kamose answered slowly. “He likes to keep the native lords of Egypt around him in the Delta, for there they may be watched and also there they may be gradually corrupted by Setiu gods and Setiu ways.” He glanced at Ankhmahor. “But outside the Delta the hereditary lords do not forget so easily that sheep herders are an abomination to gods and men, nor can they be subtly persuaded to relinquish their hold on the purity of their blood and their memories of true Ma’at. The more hospitable and respectful you were, Ankhmahor, the more you rubbed salt in the wound of his foreignness. Yet you could avert his suspicious eye by sending one of your sons north.” Ankhmahor laughed and rose. At once the harpist ceased playing and the servants drew back.
    “It would be like opening a wound in my own body and leaving it to fester, Majesty,” he said frankly. “No son of mine will be subjected to such corruption as long as I live. My elder son, Harkhuf, will come with us and fight beside me. Now, if Your Majesty pleases, we will retire to the pool and discuss our business.”
    “I think I will do a little night fishing with these sons of yours, Ankhmahor,” Ahmose said as he scrambled to his feet. He met Kamose’s eye. You do not need me, was the message Kamose read. This Prince will not trouble us.
    “Very well,” Kamose said aloud. “But we must leave here at dawn, Ahmose.”
    “I need this,” his brother said simply, and Kamose turned away and followed his host out between the pillars of the hall and into the dim garden.
    Cushions had been placed on the verge of the fishpond. A flagon of wine stood ready on the grass, together with fly whisks and cloaks, all illuminated in the flickering orange glow of the single torch that fluttered in the intermittent, lazy gusts of air. Kamose lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs, shaking his head at the cloak Ankhmahor offered him but accepting a whisk and a brimming cup of wine. A few mosquitoes hummed nearby, the sound strident and yet somehow reassuring, a natural component of the sweet Egyptian night. Crickets rasped out their tuneless song. An unseen frog leaped into the pool with a plop, sending slow ripples across the dark