Scroll of Saqqara(128)
He blinked, then scrutinized her keenly. “You have changed,” he said slowly. “Not only do you look different, your eyes are surer and colder.”
But I am not cold, she thought as she inclined her head and turned, walking to the door. I am hot, dear Father, oh how hot, and nothing, not Grandmother’s death, not the splintering apart of our former closeness, can begin to subdue these invisible flames. You are thin and insubstantial, all of you, beside the silky feel of Harmin’s skin under my questing fingers, the languorous glance of his dark eyes as he bends over me. Her hands curled into fists as she paced the corridor towards Hori’s quarters, and she was oblivious to the patient soldiers’ curious stares. She was enraged.
14
Beware of a woman from strange parts,
whose city is not known …
She is as the eddy in deep water,
the depth of which is unknown.
ON THE FOLLOWING MORNING Khaemwaset, walking into his office to begin the correspon dence for the day, came face to face with Penbuy’s son, Ptah-Seankh. The young man’s features were so like his father’s that Khaemwaset’s heart turned over, but then he recognized the build as slightly thinner and taller, the eyes as more close-set, though with Penbuy’s watchful, almost judgmental clarity, the mouth a little less forgiving. Ptah-Seankh’s eyelids were swollen and his skin sallow. He had obviously been weeping over his father, but Khaemwaset admired the determination and control that had brought him here, palette in hand and linen freshly starched, to continue the tradition of duty and loyalty that had begun many generations ago. At Khaemwaset’s approach, Ptah-Seankh knelt and prostrated himself.
“Rise,” Khaemwaset said kindly. The young man came to his feet with a fluid grace, then went to the floor again, this time in the pose of a working scribe. Khaemwaset took a chair, all at once overcome with sympathy.
“Ptah-Seankh, I loved your father and I grieve for him as you do,” he said thickly. “You need not feel that you must be here ready to work when your heart is breaking. Go home and return when you are able.”
Ptah-Seankh raised a stubborn face. “My father served you long and faithfully,” he said, “and in the way of my family, I have been trained from my earliest years to take his place as your scribe when he died. Now he prepares for his last journey, and he would think less of me if, even at this time, I did not put my duty to you before any personal consideration. Are you ready to work, Highness?”
“No,” Khaemwaset said slowly. “No, I think not. My temporary scribe is adequate for the time being. Ptah-Seankh, I want you to go and bring your father’s body back to Memphis at the end of the seventy days. I will endow his tomb with gold so that priests will pray for him every day and offerings may be made on his behalf. I will also arrange his funeral with your mother so that your mind may be at rest and on other things, because I have a task for you.” He leaned forward and his eyes met the young man’s. They held his own without wavering. “Your father was researching the line of descent of a woman I plan to marry,” he explained. “Her lineage is in Koptos. Penbuy was unable to do more than begin the task and he left no records. I want you to go to Koptos and complete the investigation before escorting your father home.”
‘I shall be honoured Prince,” Ptah-Seankh replied with a wan smile, “and I am grateful for your tact and discretion. But I shall need to know everything about this person before I leave.”
Khaemwaset laughed. The young man’s response was painful but curiously healing. “You are indeed Penbuy’s son!” he exclaimed. “You speak as you think, and will doubtless argue with me over many matters in the course of our relationship. Very well. See to your mother’s welfare before you leave. That will give me time to explain exactly what you are to do and to draft letters of introduction for you to the dignitaries of Koptos. Here.” He took up a piece of papyrus that he had already dictated. Holding a sliver of wax over the candle always burning for just such a purpose, he dribbled some onto the scroll and pressed his seal ring into it, then he handed it to Ptah-Seankh. “You are now officially in my service,” he said. “Discuss anything you need with my steward, Ib. And now, go home, Ptah-Seankh. Grieve in peace today.”
Ptah-Seankh’s throat worked. This time he came to his feet clumsily, bowed, and hurried out, but not before Khaemwaset had seen the tears gleaming in his eyes.
There was no longer any reason to remain in the house. Khaemwaset ordered out a litter, and taking Ib and Amek he stepped into his skiff for the short ride to Tbubui’s house. He had not seen Sisenet since his shameful loss of control on the day the scroll was translated, and dreaded having to try and rationalize it to the supremely self-assured man, but there was no sign of either Sisenet or his nephew as the litter-bearers padded along the narrow, winding track to the house.