Yet he sat on. The gardeners’ voices slowly faded, to be replaced by quarrelling birds, a servant humming as he passed by, the strident tones of Nubnofret’s personal body servant, Wernuro, scolding some luckless slave. The right thing, he thought emotionlessly. The only thing. He could not move.
Ptah-Seankh stood outside the closed door to the office, the scroll clutched in his hand, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. He was aware of the guard’s eyes on him in surreptitious curiosity and knew he should move, but for a moment he could not. The Prince is mad, he thought wildly. He has lost his mind. What shall I do? My first duty is to obey him in everything, but this I cannot accept. Father, what would you have done? I am an apprentice here, a learner, though a privileged one. I do not know better than my master, yet how can I do this thing? Shall I go to the Princess and confess everything? I should simply do as I am told and mind my own business. I am a newcomer to this house. I am existing on the reputation my father built. I have yet to earn my own. But he remembered the terrible thing the Prince’s Second Wife had made him do, and the guilt he carried with him everywhere. Perhaps the gods have given me this opportunity to redress the wrong I have done, he thought. I may cleanse my conscience at the same time. He had no doubt that what he had been asked to do was a wrong. The Prince had a right to include whatever details he chose in his will, but these changes had a corrupt stench to them. Oh Thoth, wise guide of the true scribe’s hand and mind, Ptah-Seankh prayed, still under the interested glances of the guard, tell me what to do.
He began to walk along the passage, and at the far end he encountered Antef, the Prince Hori’s body servant and friend. He took it as a sign. Bowing, he inquired where the Prince might be, but Antef answered shortly that he did not know. Ptah-Seankh began to search An hour later he still had not found Hori but he met the Princess Sheritra, a bowl of milk in her hands.
“Greetings, Ptah-Seankh,” she said. “I hope you are settling in well here, and Father is not driving you to distraction.”
He bowed. “I am very happy to be attached to this august household, Highness,” he replied. “May I inquire if you have seen your brother? I have searched for him all over the house and I must speak with him immediately.”
She looked thoughtful. “If he is not in the house he must be down by the watersteps,” she replied. “I know exactly where. Is it vital, Ptah-Seankh?” He nodded. “Then I will send him to you. Go and wait for him in his quarters. First, though, the house snakes need their food.” She smiled and passed on, and he turned in the direction of the Prince’s suite. The scroll was still held tightly in his hands.
He waited for a long time, but he was patient. The hour for the afternoon sleep came and he thought with longing of his own neat couch, but he stood dutifully in the Prince’s antechamber under the steward’s eye until Hori was admitted.
Hori approached Ptah-Seankh with a smile. His kilt was limp and smudged with what looked like river mud, and he was not wearing one piece of jewellery, not even an amulet. Even so, Ptah-Seankh thought that nothing could mar his extraordinary beauty.
“You need to see me?” he asked brusquely.
Ptah-Seankh bowed, eyeing the steward. “I do, Highness, but I would prefer to speak to you in private.” Hori dismissed his steward with a wave, and when the doors had closed behind him offered the scribe the wine opened on the table. Ptah-Seankh refused. Hori poured himself a generous amount and folded into a chair. “The last of a great vintage,” he commented, holding his cup so the light glittered off the wine. “My uncle may have been relegated to the status of the minor nobility but the grapes he tends produce the most royal wine in Egypt. What do you want, Ptah-Seankh?”
The young man came closet “Prince,” he said, “I am probably jeopardizing my whole career by committing an act that your Highness may very well see as a betrayal, but I am confused and in pain and I do not know what else to do.”
Hori sat straight in the chair. His translucent, glittering eyes became both wary and curious, and he blinked several times. Ptah-Seankh thought fleetingly how any woman might envy the Prince his long, black eyelashes.
“You have a conflict of loyalties,” the Prince said slowly. “Be sure that you want to speak, Ptah-Seankh, before you do so. You are my father’s servant, not mine.”
“I am fully aware of that, Highness,” Ptah-Seankh agreed. “Yet your father has set me a task I cannot fulfil in all honesty without your guidance. I love your father,” he went on frankly. “He has been the benefactor of my family for many years. I do not betray his trust lightly.”