He carried the bowl carefully in front of him all the way back to his own quarters. The storm of loathing and shame within him was abating and he had begun to think clearly again. Antef was sitting on the floor outside Hori’s door, his back against the wall, desultorily tossing dice. He came to his feet at Hori’s approach, looking at his friend uncertainly. Hori motioned him inside. “Close the door,” he ordered. While Antef did so, Hori put the bowl of food carefully beside his couch. The thought of food at the moment made him sick but he believed he might need it later. “Bring that palette,” he said, indicating the scribe’s tools on the floor beside the large table where Hori used to work. For a second Hori reflected on the agreeable, carefree young man he had been, but the image had no reality. “Can you take a message, Antef?”
“Why yes, of course,” the young man replied, going to the floor and putting the palette across his knees. “There is papyrus already rolled up here, and I think the ink is reasonably fresh.” He shook out a pen. “To whom shall I address it?”
“To my grandfather Ramses. Put all his titles—he’s touchy about that. Then say, ‘From your loyal and obedient grandson the Prince Hori, greetings. I beg you, dear Grandfather, to concern yourself with a family matter that is causing much grief to me and to your granddaughter the Princess Sheritra. It has come to my attention that our father Prince Khaemwaset has recently and secretly removed both my sister and myself from his will in favour of the unborn child of his Second Wife, the lady Tbubui. I also have strong reasons to believe that the lady Tbubui has lied to my father regarding her noble lineage and has no right to be married to a blood prince. I am in great distress, Omnipotent One, and again beg your investigation into these matters. I wish your Majesty Life, Health and Prosperity. I am yours to command.” He gestured impatiently at Antef, who was staring at him helplessly.
“Finish it and I will seal it,” he said. Antef recovered. The pen scraped against the papyrus and at last he rose, placed the scroll on the table and passed the pen to Hori. Hori pressed his seal ring into the hot wax Antef had prepared. He was regaining some equilibrium.
“Is it true?” Antef demanded. “Has the Prince really done that to you?”
“Yes.” Hon responded shortly.
“The lady Tbubui—she is the one you are in love with, isn’t she?” Antef said, appalled.
Hori did not apologize for his treatment of Antef over the last few months. He merely held out a hand. After a moment Antef took it. “I love her, but she is not worthy of the affection of anyone in this family,” Hori said grimly. “I will tell you everything, Antef, on our way to Koptos.”
Antef recoiled. “Koptos?”
“Yes. Have the servants pack a few things tonight. I need sleep desperately. We will leave in the morning.”
Antef was clearly bewildered. “Does your father know we are going away?”
“No, he doesn’t, and I have no intention of telling him. He never wants to see me again anyway. Do as I have asked, and I will meet you at the watersteps an hour after sunrise. Oh, and Antef …” He held out the scroll. “Give this to one of the heralds and tell him to leave for Pi-Ramses at once. Use a household servant, not one of Father’s personal messengers. Go on!” Antef shrugged, smiled tentatively at Hori and went away.
It has begun, Hori thought, and he was all at once hungry. He reached for the bowl and began to force the food into his mouth. When I come back from Koptos with the evidence of Tbubui’s perfidy she is going to wish she had never been born. The sweet taste of revenge mingled with the tang of the leek as he bit into it, but another flavour fought for sudden prominence. It was Tbubui’s skin, salty with sweat, and he closed his eyes and whimpered.
He did not go to the hall for the evening meal. He paced his room, hearing snatches of music floating through the passages and, now and then, Tbubui’s quick laughter. He sat with his face pressed to the wind-catcher, sucking up the marginally cooler night air, and then he called for his body servant and played a few games of sennet, which he won.
The house gradually grew quiet, and at last Hori slipped from his quarters and made his way to Sheritra’s suite. He would have preferred not to be seen, but each passage had a guard at either end and they could not be avoided.
Tapping on Sheritra’s door, he was admitted by Bakmut. Sheritra herself came quickly from the inner bedchamber, wrapped in her white sleeping gown. With her hair loose and her face scrubbed she looked all of twelve, Hori thought as he kissed her. Her eyes were frightened.