Death Comes as the End

‘In a minute, Nofret—in a minute.’

Nofret said in a soft, deep voice:

‘Come now. I want you to come now …’

Imhotep looked pleased and a little sheepish. Yahmose said quickly before his father could speak:

‘Let us just speak of this first. It is important. I want to ask you—’

Nofret spoke directly to Imhotep, turning her shoulder on Yahmose:

‘Can you not do what you want in your own house?’

Imhotep said sharply to Yahmose:

‘Another time, my son. Another time.’

He went with Nofret and Yahmose stood on the porch looking after them.

Satipy came out from the house and joined him.

‘Well,’ she demanded eagerly, ‘have you spoken to him? What did he say?’

Yahmose sighed.

‘Do not be so impatient, Satipy. The time was not—propitious.’

Satipy gave an angry exclamation.

‘Oh yes—that is what you would say! That is what you will always say. The truth is you are afraid of your father—you are as timid as a sheep—you bleat at him—you will not stand up to him like a man! Do you not recall the things you promised me? I tell you I am the better man of us two! You promise—you say: “I will ask my father—at once—the very first day.” And what happens—’

Satipy paused—for breath, not because she had finished—but Yahmose cut in mildly:

‘You are wrong, Satipy. I began to speak—but we were interrupted.’

‘Interrupted? By whom?’

‘By Nofret.’

‘Nofret! That woman! Your father should not let his concubine interrupt when he is speaking of business to his eldest son. Women should not concern themselves with business.’

Possibly Yahmose wished that Satipy herself would live up to the maxim she was enunciating so glibly, but he was given no opportunity to speak. His wife swept on:

‘Your father should have made that clear to her at once.’

‘My father,’ said Yahmose drily, ‘showed no signs of displeasure.’

‘It is disgraceful,’ Satipy declared. ‘Your father is completely bewitched by her. He lets her say and do as she pleases.’

Yahmose said thoughtfully:

‘She is very beautiful …’

Satipy snorted.

‘Oh, she has looks of a kind. But no manners! No upbringing! She does not care how rude she is to all of us.’

‘Perhaps you are rude to her?’

‘I am the soul of politeness. Kait and I treat her with every courtesy. Oh, she shall have nothing of which to go complaining to your father. We can wait our time, Kait and I.’

Yahmose looked up sharply.

‘How do you mean—wait your time?’

Satipy laughed meaningfully as she moved away.

‘My meaning is woman’s meaning—you would not understand. We have our ways—and our weapons! Nofret would do well to moderate her insolence. What does a woman’s life come to in the end, after all? It is spent in the back of the house—amongst the other women.’

There was a peculiar significance in Satipy’s tone. She added:

‘Your father will not always be here … He will go away again to his estates in the North. And then—we shall see.’

‘Satipy—’

Satipy laughed—a hard-sounding, high laugh, and went back into the house.

By the lake the children were running about and playing. Yahmose’s two boys were fine, handsome little fellows, looking more like Satipy than like their father. Then there were Sobek’s three—the youngest a mere toddling baby. And there was Teti, a grave, handsome child of four years old.

They laughed and shouted, threw balls—occasionally a dispute broke out and a childish wail of anger rose high and shrill.

Sitting sipping his beer, with Nofret beside him, Imhotep murmured: ‘How fond children are of playing by water. It was always so, I remember. But, by Hathor, what a noise they make!’

Nofret said quickly:

‘Yes—and it could be so peaceful … Why do you not tell them to go away whilst you are here? After all when the master of the house wants relaxation a proper respect should be shown. Don’t you agree?’

‘I—well—’ Imhotep hesitated. The idea was new to him but pleasing. ‘I do not really mind them,’ he finished, doubtfully.

He added rather weakly:

‘They are accustomed to play here always as they please.’

‘When you are away, yes,’ said Nofret quickly. ‘But I think, Imhotep, considering all that you do for your family, they should show more sense of your dignity—of your importance. You are too gentle—too easygoing.’

Imhotep sighed placidly.

‘It has always been my failing. I never insist on the outward forms.’