by N. L. Holmes
“Our king does love a spectacle,” Mane shouted at Hani, grinning broadly.
Two magnificently dressed servants waved dyed-ostrich-plume flabella at either side of king and queen, and behind the royal carrying chairs marched the king’s special friends, the Fan Bearers, each with a single plume on a golden handle. If real public servants were rewarded as they should be, Ptah-mes would be among them, thought Hani bitterly. But in fact, his superior had been stripped of his high offices and even of his status of royal friend because he had dared to stand up to the young king when Nefer-khepru-ra had been his father’s coregent.
And now the viziers were passing. Lord Aper-el, Hani’s higher superior, with his chiseled pale northern face, and his southern counterpart, Lord Nakht-pa-aten, whom Hani knew but slightly. The higher echelon of bureaucrats was peeling off from the crowd to join the procession, and Ptah-mes was in there somewhere—Hani thought he saw his head rising taller than the others at the far edge of the group. Before long, Hani and Mane took their places in line.
The cadence of the drums pounded in his viscera as he began to walk. I can’t wait till this is over, Hani thought glumly.
⸎
Five days after the opening ceremony of the Great Jubilee, Hani reached Waset, where he defiantly maintained his residence.
“Well, my love? How did it go?” Nub-nefer asked her husband as they embraced.
“Spectacular, as always,” he said, bending to smell the perfume rising from her warm natural hair. “I don’t know how he has time to do anything but parade around.”
Acknowledgment
The author gratefully acknowledges all those who have helped
her in the production of this book. To the wonderful women of
my writers’ group, for their critique and encouragement, my thanks.
To Lynn McNamee and her editorial team at Red Adept—Jessica,
Sarah, and Laura—profound gratitude (and Lynn, for so many other
forms of help). To the flexible and talented gang at Streetlight
Graphics for the cover and map. To my cousin and her husband, my
technology guru: thanks, guys. To Enid, who urged me forward by
her support, I can’t thank you sufficiently. And most of all, to my husband,
Ippokratis, who put up with the months of fixation it takes to
write a novel, many, many thanks.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
N.L. Holmes is the pen name of a professional archaeologist who received her doctorate from Bryn Mawr College. She has excavated in Greece and in Israel, and taught ancient history and humanities at the university level for many years. She has always had a passion for books, and in childhood, she and her cousin (also a writer today) used to write stories for fun. Today, since their son is grown, she lives with her husband and three cats. They split their time between Florida and northern France, where she gardens, weaves, plays the violin, dances, and occasionally drives a jog-cart. And reads, of course.
