Set glares at her, enraged. His eyes glitter, hot as coals. He looks as if he might hit her.
Then, all at once, he relents. Relaxes. Smiles.
''You're quite right, my dear,'' he says. ''I did tell Ra I would try to be a better person and kiss and make up with my enemies.'' He chucks her under the chin.
Nephthys is pleased and relieved.
Set turns to his nephew. ''Horus…''
Horus cocks his head, wary. ''Yes?''
''I apologise.''
''For?''
''For striking your shoulder with mine, for one thing. I was careless. I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm sorry, also, for everything I said to you just now. Most of all, though, I'm sorry for the discontent that has simmered between us since… since as long as I can remember. We have had our ups and downs, haven't we?''
In Horus's single eye there is a gleam of mistrust. His mouth twists. ''That's one way of putting it.''
''For instance, that time we lay in bed together and I ejaculated into your hand.''
Horus looks down and shuffles his feet. ''You don't have to mention that here, in front of all these people.''
''No, no,'' says Set, ''I do have to. I'm making a clean breast of things. It was wrong of me to do what I did. I invited you to join me in bed, and you did so in all innocence, and then while you slept I abused you. Abused your trust. I visited an indignity upon you in the hope of gaining advantage, so that afterwards I could boast, 'Look, I've spilled semen over Horus.' I wished to belittle you, but happily your mother managed to thwart my scheme.''
''Indeed,'' says Isis. By now all the other gods on the Solar Barque have broken off their own conversations and are avidly following the exchange between Set and Horus. ''I did what I had to, to spare my son from humiliation,'' she continues. ''I cut off and threw away his hand rather than leave it in place, defiled by your seed.''
Horus rubs his wrist, where a faint, bracelet-like scar may be seen. The hand he possesses now is a replacement, fashioned for him by Isis.
''You still boasted about your act of pollution,'' she says to Set, ''but without proof, no one would believe you.''
''I was outwitted,'' says Set. ''And it wasn't the only time. Remember when I challenged you to a race in boats made of stone?''
''Oh ho, yes!'' says Horus. ''I built mine out of cedar wood coated in gypsum, and won.''
''I was utterly taken in, nephew. Your boat looked like a thing of rock but floated beautifully, while mine, made from an actual mountain peak, sank like… well, what else would it sink like? I made a big fuss about it at the time, telling everyone how you cheated, but secretly I was impressed with your ingenuity. You beat me at my own game. Full marks to you, Horus.''
''But why are you raising these age-old affairs, Uncle?'' says Horus. ''What has brought on this strange mood of yours?''
''I'm simply trying to tell you that I have wronged you, Horus — as you have wronged me, although that is of lesser importance. I'm trying, in my very clumsy way, to make you understand that I want us to forget all the bad blood between us and be on good terms from now on. I know that our disputes have sometimes been ferocious, and no less often been foolish, but I'm hoping we can put them all behind us and start afresh. I want to be less of an antagonist to you, more of an uncle. Do you… do you think that might be possible? At all?''
Set bends his head. He looks up at Horus, hands clasped together. It's quite a sight, the muscular Lord of the Desert humbly imploring his nephew for a second chance. Horus himself seems unable to believe it wholeheartedly. His frown and the narrowness of his eye say he's waiting for a sudden reversal. Surely Set is attempting to get him to lower his guard, in order to deliver a sucker-punch out of nowhere.
But no sucker-punch comes.
''If you're sincere in this desire…'' Horus says slowly.
''Oh, I am. I am.''
''Then yes, I could probably see my way to forgetting what is past and beginning again.''
''Horus! Really?''
Horus nods.
''Come here!'' Set springs forward and enfolds his nephew in a massive, manly hug. Horus's arms come up and he pats his uncle's back, tentatively at first, then firmly. Set draws back, studies Horus for a moment, then leans in and plants a kiss on his lips. Horus is startled, but after a moment his eye closes and the kiss is returned. Deeply. Lasciviously. Nephthys looks on, perplexed, while amongst the gathered deities there are wolf- whistles and a few cheers, and somebody advises Set and Horus to get a room. The source of this suggestion is, in fact, one of Horus's own children, all of whom are highly amused to see their father locked in an embrace with another male god.
Eventually the kissing couple break apart. Horus is abashed, his cheeks pink, while Set wears an air of triumphant satisfaction. He turns to his wife, and there is a glee in his voice as he says, ''There. See? I've kissed and made up with Horus. Just what you wanted, isn't it?''
''Well, yes, maybe,'' says Nephthys. ''If not quite… that.''
''But my dear, is it so wrong to admit passion for another? Even if that other isn't one's own spouse?''
''Too late. You cannot shame me, husband,'' Nephthys retorts. Her expression is smug. ''I have already begun making the rounds with a confession of my misdeed. Just a short while ago, in fact, I prostrated myself before Isis and her husband in their palace and told them everything.''
''Did you now?'' says Set, glancing toward their brother and sister. ''And how did they take it?''
Isis, still holding Osiris's hand, reaches over and rests her other hand on the back of Nephthys's neck. ''How would you expect us to take it, Set?'' she says. ''How, other than with understanding and forgiveness.''
Nephthys gazes into her sister's eyes with gratitude.
''Nephthys made an error of judgement,'' Isis goes on. ''Deep down I always knew she had slept with Osiris, but I chose not to make a fuss about it. 'Least said, soonest mended,' as the saying goes. She acted out of lust, not malice. Her intention was never to hurt me or my husband. If she is guilty of anything, it's thoughtlessness, and that is a sin I can easily pardon.''
''And you, Osiris?'' Set says to his brother. ''How do you feel about all this?''
''Blameless,'' comes the reply. ''Nephthys masqueraded as Isis. I was none the wiser.''
Set raises one coppery eyebrow. ''Honestly?''
''Honestly,'' says Osiris, with finality.
''Ha!'' booms a deep, ebony voice from a corner of the Solar Barque. It is Anubis, who has been standing at one remove all this time, aloof from the rest of the Pantheon, as is his wont. ''And I suppose, Osiris, if you deny you knew who seduced you, you would deny also that you are my father?''
Osiris regards the Jackal-Headed One evenly. ''I would not deny that,'' he says, a slow and careful choice of words. ''I would deny only that I have been a father to you. And it is an oversight for which I would like to make amends. All this time, we have been distant from one another, you and I, Anubis, each of us suspecting, or knowing, the truth of our kinship and yet unable, or unwilling, to act upon it. It has
