Scroll of Saqqara(103)
There was also a brief communication from Amunmose, Chief of Pharaoh’s Harem in Memphis, complaining that the physician appointed by Khaemwaset himself to see to the medical needs of the women was incompetent and had been dismissed. Could the Mighty Prince suggest a replacement? Not now, Khaemwaset thought with nagging irritation. Tomorrow. I will see to it tomorrow.
On his way to Nubnofret’s quarters he came upon Antef. The young man was scantily clad in nothing but a loincloth. A quiver of arrows was slung over his shoulder and his bow hung negligently from one slender hand. Khaemwaset brushed past him, then halted and turned.
“You go to archery practice, Antef?” Antef nodded. He looked unhappy and tired. “Will Hori join you?”
“No, Highness,” Antef replied. “I have not seen the Prince today. He slept late and then hurried out.” His eyes would not meet Khaemwaset’s and Khaemwaset felt a wave of sympathy that answered the deep sadness in the pleasant boy.
“You have not seen much of my son lately, have you?” he said gently. Miserably Antef shook his head. “Can you tell me what ails him, Antef? Without betraying his confidence, of course.”
“I would tell you if I knew, Highness,” Antef blurted, “but Hori no longer confides in me. It is as though I have displeased him in some way, but by Set I cannot imagine how!”
“Neither can I,” Khaemwaset said gently. “I am sorry, Antef. Please do not lose patience with him.”
“I do not intend to, Highness.” Antef smiled wanly. “I think he will talk to me eventually.”
Khaemwaset nodded and passed on. He did not want to dwell on Hori’s mysterious change of face, preferring to believe that his son’s good sense would reassert itself without interference.
When Khaemwaset was announced, Nubnofret was standing in the middle of the bedchamber, hands on her hips, amid a welter of gowns and cloaks. Wernuro and two body servants were sorting through the brilliant piles of beaded gilded linens and a harried-looking scribe sat at his mistress’s feet, pen working furiously. “Put that one aside,” Nubnofret was saying. “It can be altered for Sheritra. And those two have worn patches on them. They had better be cut up. Such a pity,” she smiled, turning for Khaemwaset’s dutiful kiss. “They were my favourites. I am ordering new clothes, dear brother. The linen woven from last year’s flax is particularly fine and I have requisitioned a good portion of it.”
“So you will be busy all day?” Khaemwaset asked hopefully. She made a rueful grimace.
“Yes. The gown-maker is coming. Why do you want to know?”
“I am going to visit Sheritra,” he said carefully, “and at the same time I will invite Sisenet to come and peruse the scroll. I thought you might like to see your daughter and spend some time with Tbubui.”
In spite of the enforced steadiness of his voice she looked at him curiously. “Sheritra has only been gone for three days,” she pointed out. “And you can just as easily send a herald to Sisenet. You have neglected patients, Khaemwaset, and although Penbuy is loyal to you and does not complain, I am aware of the official correspondence piling up on your desk. Such irresponsibility is not like you.”
I am not answerable to you, he thought, annoyed. Sometimes you affect the tone of a mother with me and I hate it. “Such things are not your concern, Nubnofret,” he rebuked her, with what he hoped was kindness. “Run the household and leave my business to me. I have been very tired of late and I see nothing wrong with an afternoon chatting to my daughter and her host.”
Usually at this juncture she would back down. Her passion for control occasionally prompted her to encroach on Khaemwaset’s sphere, but a gentle reprimand would have her laughing at herself and retiring. But this time she stood her ground. “It is not just a matter of one afternoon,” she persisted. “For weeks now you have been withdrawn and short with everyone. I am surprised that you have not received one of Ramses’ barbed letters of inquiry concerning Egypt’s forgotten affairs.” She was watching him with something very like wounded puzzlement in her eyes, and Khaemwaset wondered fleetingly if perhaps she was more astute than he had thought. He would have to talk to her sometime soon, but not today, not today! He hastened to placate her while the servants waited in their well-trained immobility.
“It is true that I have not given my duties the attention they deserve,” he admitted, “but, Nubnofret, I am in need of a rest.”
“Then let us go north for a week or two. Perhaps the change would restore you.”