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have liked to turn around and scan the crowd, but she did not dare and indeed she would scarcely have had time, for Amunmose was approaching from one of the anterooms lining the court, accompanied by his incense-laden acolytes. He was wearing the leopard skin denoting his exalted position draped over one shoulder and his staff of holy office was in one hand. Following him was Ahmose in a plain white kilt, his feet bare, his head covered by a square of knotted white linen. Then came three priests, each solemnly bearing a box. The singers burst into harmony. Regally the High Priest led Ahmose to one of the chairs and bowed.
    Ahmose did not sit. For a moment his gaze travelled across the assembly, met his wife’s eyes, and acknowledged her with a grin that flashed out and was gone so quickly that Aahmes-nefertari wondered if she had imagined it. He held up a hand and immediately the singing stopped. There was a breathless hush. “Favoured ones of Egypt,” Ahmose called, his voice echoing to the stone ceiling. “Today I succeed my brother as Lord of the Two Lands and Beloved of Amun. From henceforth, the first day of summer will mark the Anniversary of my Appearing as the god’s Divine Incarnation here on earth. I pledge to uphold the laws of Ma’at, reward those who serve me well, and punish justly those who do not. I take to myself the kingship of Egypt as the legitimate inheritor of my ancestors’ right to rule. Aahotep, come here.” His mother stepped forward, and gently taking her arm he swung her to face the gathering. “This is the price of treachery,” he said, pointing at her sheath, “and it was exacted ruthlessly by this woman, herself the wife of a King without a crown. Can any deny the claims of the house of Tao in the presence of such courage and nobility? Mark this well, and ponder what you see.” Aahmes-nefertari felt a tug on her own sheath and glanced down to see Ahmose-onkh.
    “Why is Grandmother wearing a dirty sheath?” he whispered fiercely. “Is Father giving her a reprimand?” Aahmesnefertari pressed a finger to his hot little mouth.
    “Not now,” she whispered back. “I will explain later.”
    “I too am a King without a crown,” Ahmose was saying. “The sacred Regalia—the hedjet, the deshret, the atef, the heka and the nekhakha—lie in blasphemous foreign hands. Even the Lady of Flame and the Lady of Dread are in the north. But I will rescue the White Nefer and the Red, the atef and the sceptre and the flail, and when I do there will be a fitting coronation here, before Amun, in the midst of his city.” He had released Aahotep but she had not moved. She continued to stand, straight and pale, the brown splashes on her foul linen sending out both a warning and a testimony. “Today I will only take the nemes, a symbol of concord with my people,” Ahmose went on. “And I will accept new sandals in order to walk the new path the god has decreed for me. But let there be no mistake. Power does not reside in the Double Crown but in the person of the god who wears it. Let us continue. Bring stools for my mother and grandmother.”
    He signalled. Aahmes-nefertari noticed anxiously that Aahotep was trying to hide a limp as they went to him and she heaved a secret sigh of relief when they were all seated. But blood was seeping slowly from beneath Aahotep’s broken toenail and Aahmes-nefertari experienced a surge of the superstitious horror that used to often overtake her. It is a bad omen for the start of Ahmose’s reign, she thought. No one must see it. What shall I do? She had been waved to one of the two chairs and knew she could neither rise nor bend down without drawing attention to herself.
    But the same young priest who had come to Aahotep’s rescue before had been watching. Boldly he approached, fell gracefully before her, and while seeming to kiss her feet in an impulse of respectful submission managed to use the hem of his garment to wipe away the drops. Aahotep stared before