Kenkenes stood in the doorway, the curtain thrust aside and above him.
His voluminous festal robes were deeply edged with gold, but his arms,
bare to the shoulder, and his strong brown neck were without their
usual trappings of jewels. The omission seemed intentional, as if the
young man had meant to contrast the ornament of young strength and
grace with the glitter and magnificence of the other guests. He had
succeeded well.
Perhaps to most of those present, the young man's presence was not
unusual, but Hotep was not blind to a manifest alteration in his
manner. There was cynicism in the corners of his mouth, and a hint of
hurt or temper was evident in the tension of his nostril and the
brilliance of his eyes. Hotep had no need of seers and astrologers,
for his perception served him in all tangible things. He knew
something untoward had set Kenkenes to thinking about himself, and
guessing where the young artist had gone that evening, he surmised
further how he had been received.
And though he was sorry in his heart for his friend's unhappiness, he
confessed his admiration for Rachel.
"Late," cried Hotep, rising.
"Thy pardon, Hotep," Kenkenes replied, advancing into the chamber, "I
had an errand of much importance to Masaarah and it was fruitless.
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