“Oh no, my dearest!” she sobbed. “No! I meant nothing by it, I swear! Please do not punish Hori! He is just …” She faltered, and Khaemwaset jumped in.
“He is just what? What has been going on here? I command you to answer me, Tbubui!”
She put a hand over her mouth then withdrew it, turning to face Hori with eyes full of pity and commiseration. For one blinding moment he doubted himself, doubted Ptah-Seankh, but then he remembered how the scribe’s tale had had the unmistakable ring of veracity about it, and how his father, his father! had planned to cravenly and secretly take his heritage away from him. “You bitch,” he murmured, and for one instant he could have sworn he saw an answering flare of mockery in her eyes. Then she was obeying Khaemwaset, with every show of reluctance.
“Hori is jealous of you, my love,” she said in a trembling voice. “I have known for a long time that he wanted me for himself. He confessed as much to me in the days before you offered me a marriage contract, but I was already enamoured of you and I told him so, as kindly as I could. The violence of his youthful infatuation has turned to hate, and he has been trying to discredit me.” She swung to Khaemwaset, her fingers splayed appealingly. “Oh do not blame him, Khaemwaset! We both know that such fires burn fiercely and often eat up all common sense! For my sake, do not punish him!”
Khaemwaset had listened in an astounded silence, his face becoming grimmer, and when she finished speaking he tore himself away from her pleading hands and ran at Hori. For a moment Hori believed that his father was actually about to strike him and he involuntarily flinched, but Khaemwaset was hanging on to his control.
“You vicious puppy!” he shouted, blowing spittle into Hori’s face. “This is the reason for those secret visits— lusting after your father’s betrothed. Thinking to use your looks to seduce her! If she had not begged for clemency I would throw you out of this house immediately! As it is, you are not to appear at any communal meals and I do not want to hear the sound of your voice again! Do you understand?”
Behind his father’s furious face Hori could see Tbubui. She was grinning openly at him. He realized then that the scribe had gone. “Oh yes, I understand,” he said slowly. “I understand very well. But if you think that I am going to stand by and allow you to take away my birthright for the sake of the child in that evil woman’s womb, you are very much mistaken, Father.” He stepped aside and bowed to Tbubui. “My congratulations on your fecundity,” he said drily. “I wish both of you much joy of it.” Then he flung the scroll on the ground, spun on his heel and strode away.
He kept his spine straight and his head high until he knew he was out of their vision, then he stumbled into the thick shrubbery and fell to the earth, burying his head between his knees. He wanted to cry but found he could not. For a while he simply crouched there, stunned, the details of Tbubui’s matchless performance playing over and over again in his mind, far more vivid than his father’s insanely angry face. He was thirsty for wine, wine, and more wine, and in the end he got up, pushed his way back to the path and cautiously entered the house by the main doors. They stood open, as usual. The three servants permanently stationed there rose and reverenced him, and he stalked past them into the welcoming gloom.
The debris of the noon meal was being cleared, and apart from the servants the hall was empty. The smell of the food nauseated Hori. He prowled about until he found an unopened jar of wine, broke the seal and took a long swallow. Then, hugging it to his chest, he went back outside. The hour for a drowsy retreat from the sun had come, and the house and grounds had settled to a drugged quiet. Hori padded along the path to the watersteps, veered away, and was soon reclining in his and Sheritra’s secret place. I will get very drunk, he told himself, and then I will get drunker still. I hate you, Father, but I hate that unscrupulous, scheming whore you married even more.
He drank, waited, and drank again, but the afternoon wore on towards sunset and he found himself as sober as the moment when he had begun. It was as though the wine were entering his mouth, diffusing through his body, then leaving through the pores of his skin and taking its potency with it. Hori remained painfully lucid, and at some point before he tossed the empty jar into the bushes and crawled back onto the path, he had decided what he would do.
The concubines’ house appeared to be deserted, but Hori knew it would not stay that way for long. The afternoon sleep had ended. Some of the women would be emerging to bathe, others to go into the city markets. He surmised that his father had spent the time with Tbubui but would probably have left her by now to perform his afternoon duties. Hori walked up to the door, greeting the keeper amiably, and demanded to be let in. The man asked his business, and when Hori told him that Second Wife Tbubui had invited him earlier in the day to come and share a few moments with her, stepmother to adopted son as it were, he bowed and stood aside. “Make sure we are not disturbed,” Hori ordered as he walked away. “The lady has been so busy lately that we have had little time to get to know one another and I am grateful to her for giving me this hour.” I suppose when she tells Father that the Keeper let me in he will have him dismissed, Hori thought, approaching Tbubui’s door. Well, it cannot be helped. He motioned to the servant on the entrance to be silent, knocked once and let himself through.