Free Orphan of the Sun by Gill Harvey Page A

once more for a beaded necklace. Last of all, she reached for her wig – a cheap one made of date-palm fibre that she hated, because it made her itch.
    In another casket lay Senmut’s finest kilt, made of pure white linen and painstakingly ironed into many beautiful pleats by Tia. Next to it lay his wig. Meryt grabbed them both and headed on to the roof, sucking in her cheeks as the cool evening breeze chilled her bare skin.
    â€˜Thank you, Meryt,’ said Senmut as she handed him the garments. His mood was still cheerful, and Meryt hoped it would remain that way.
    â€˜Do you need anything else?’ she asked.
    He shook his head. ‘No. Go and help Nauna now.’ He paused, and smiled. ‘You’ll make a good wife, Meryt.’
    Meryt stared at him, her throat dry. But Senmut was already wrapping the beautiful kilt around his loins, humming a tune. Before he could say anything else, she turned and ran quickly down the stairs.
    The evening drew in swiftly. As the ducks roasted on a fire, Senmut’s guests arrived and settled themselves in the middle room. Nauna remained in the courtyard while Meryt ferried to and fro, first serving wine, then dishes piled high with meat and vegetables.
    Whenever she passed through the back room, Meryt spared a moment for Tia, who scarcely moved from her son’s side. Baki made a poor patient, as Meryt had suspected he might. He writhed on the bed, groaning continuously and making bad-tempered demands for more wine. Tia gave him small swigs, and bathed his forehead with a cool, soothing ointment. Meryt passed her aunt small platefuls of food and begged her to eat, but Tia would not be tempted. She seemed lost in the world of her son’s pain and could think of nothing else.
    The workmen were unused to drinking wine. On a daily basis they drank beer, and the stronger brew soon began to go to their heads. With each journey through to the middle room, Meryt was greeted with louder gales of laughter; and as their eyes lapped up the sight of her growing body, it became harder to keep her smile in its place. She consoled herself with the tastiest morsels of duck, crisped up on the fire and seasoned with salt, popping them into her mouth surreptitiously as she carried the serving plates through.
    At last the men stumbled off into the night. Meryt rescued her dress from the casket and joined Mose and Henut where they lay on the roof, out of the men’s way. Henut was already sound asleep, duck fat smeared around her mouth and a peaceful expression on her face.
    â€˜Everyone’s gone. You can go down now, if you want,’ Meryt whispered to Mose. ‘There’s lots more food too, if you’re hungry.’
    Mose shook his head. ‘I’ve had enough.’ He sat up and looked anxiously at Meryt. ‘Will Baki be all right? Mama seems so worried about him.’
    â€˜Of course he will. He’ll be his usual self in a few days.’ Meryt’s heart went out to the sensitive eight year old, who knew only too well that he would suffer the same fate in a few years’ time. All the same, he was right to observe that Tia seemed more worried than she should be. ‘Mama’s worried because Baki is her first child, that’s all,’ she added. ‘Make the most of the peace and quiet. He’ll be teasing you again in no time.’
    Mose lay back down again, reassured. Meryt fetched a sheet and her precious ostracon before lying down beside him. She gazed at the image of the goddess Hathor, her frustration welling up inside as she mulled over the day’s events. Soon Baki would be back on his feet and Senmut would turn all his attention to getting rid of her. Why was nothing becoming clearer? She thought again of her dream – the image of Ramose disappearing over the mountain with her father, Peshedu …
    Peshedu. How Meryt wished she had known him – both him and her mother, Simut. Simut had been so young when she