Scroll of Saqqara(167)

Amid mutual protestations of respect Hori presently withdrew. He and Antef spent a little time talking together in their quarters as the night deepened, but Hori could not keep his mind on what was being said, and before long their conversations died away. Antef stretched out on his mat and was soon breathing softly and evenly in sleep.

Hori reached to the small leather pouch he had taken to wearing tied to his belt, and opening it, he withdrew the earring he had found in the tomb tunnel. She loved it, he thought sadly. She put it on and laughed and it swung against her tall neck. What is she doing now? Is she crouched in the darkness with cruel pins in her hands, intent on the incantation of my destruction? What did she steal that was mine? Tbubui, Tbubui, I would have nurtured you and kept you safe no matter who you are. He did not want to cry but the tears slid soundlessly down his cheeks. He felt very young, and very helpless.

Early the next day Antef set off with a scroll of introduction bearing Hori’s seal to politely interrogate Koptos’s ruling families, and Hori made his way to the House of Life, attached to the temple of Amun. The library proved to be a pleasant four rooms, one opening into another, with the far walls pillared so that any breeze might funnel right through. Each room was honeycombed with tiny cubicles crammed with scrolls of every size and description, and before he began his work Hori was escorted through the building by the priest-librarian.

“I was on duty here when your father’s scribe died on the steps, Highness,” he remarked to Hori as they sat in an alcove. “He had been a regular visitor for four days prior to being struck down. Indeed, that very morning he had told me that he was about to dictate his findings to his assistant.”

“How did he seem?” Hori asked, and the librarian frowned.

“He seemed afraid. A curious word to choose, but that was the impression he gave me. He was obviously ill, but as well as his physical discomfort there appeared to be some grave matter on his mind. He was a good scholar.”

“Yes, he was,” Hori agreed, a wave of fear washing over him too, as though in sympathy with the dead Penbuy. “I would like you to bring me all the scrolls he examined, but first, tell me about the man who was given the caravan monopoly during the reign of Queen Hatshepsut.”

The librarian’s face lightened. “Ah, Highness! How good to speak to someone who even knows the name of that Osiris One! We have her very seal here, in this library, affixed to a document giving the monopoly personally to the man you mentioned. Osiris Penbuy wanted to see it also.”

“Did he indeed?” Hori said thoughtfully. “And what of that man’s lineage? Where do his descendants live?”

The librarian shook his head. “There were no descendants. The inhabitants of Koptos believed that the man was cursed. I do not know what for. Remember, Highness, that we are talking of events that took place many hentis ago. But he, his wife and his son drowned, the Prince and his wife in the river at Memphis, and the son a few days later, here at Koptos. It is in the records. The son, Merhu, was buried here.”

“And the parents?” Hori could feel his muscles tensing. I do not want to hear this, he thought in dread. The mayor knew a little, but this man knows it all. Amun, I do not want to know it all!

“They inhabit a tomb on the Saqqara plain at Memphis,” the librarian said cheerfully. “The remains of their estate are just north of Koptos and in total ruin. No one in this town will go there. They say the site is haunted.”

Hori’s chest felt as though a band had been tightened around it. “I saw it yesterday,” he managed. “Their names?”

“The Prince Nenefer-ka-Ptah, the Princess Ahura and his Highness Merhu.” The librarian, seeing Hori’s face, quickly poured him water. Hori forced it to his lips and drank. “Highness, what is wrong?” the man inquired.

“I have been in their tomb,” Hori whispered. “The Princess Ahura. That is the only surviving identification in the place. My father excavated there.”

“The mighty Khaemwaset has done much restoring of ancient monuments,” the librarian commented. “But how interesting! The selfsame tomb! And by accident?”

By accident? Hori thought with a shudder. Who knows? O gods, who knows?

“Yes,” he answered. “But before you ask, my friend, we did not find anything to enhance your knowledge of the period. Where is the son buried?”

“In the Koptos necropolis,” the librarian replied promptly. “The tomb was rifled hentis ago and nothing of value remains in it, but his Highness is still there. At least, he was the last time I conducted an inspection of noble tombs for the Mighty Bull. The lid had been wrenched from the coffin and was standing against a wall, but the young man’s corpse had been correctly beautified and was lying within.”