Suddenly he had the overpowering impression that he was being watched. Halting, he peered about, trying to pierce the thick gloom under the trees. “Tbubui, is that you?” he called, but there was not even a breeze to whisper an answer. Khaemwaset stood very still, breathing shallowly. He was more certain than ever, though he could see nothing, that an unseen presence lurked close by with speculative eyes on him. If he had been in less of an internal turmoil he would have left the path and searched angrily, but as it was he hurried down the steps and into the rocking craft. The night was no longer a magic spell of romance and timelessness. It was a shroud hiding the ephemeral, nameless things that preyed upon human beings in envy. He could not pull away from the watersteps quickly enough.
10
Set not sorrow in thy heart,
for the years are not many.
DAWN WAS ONLY three hours away when Khaemwaset fell onto his couch without bother ing to use the water Kasa had dutifully left for him. His night lamp was low and guttering. He blew it out, thinking that he would doubtless sleep very late the next morning, but to his surprise he woke refreshed at his usual time, unaware of having dreamed and feeling full of vigour.
After he had been bathed and dressed and had opened the shrine in his quarters to say his morning prayers, he went over the events of the night. Perhaps they were a dream I had, he told himself. They seem so unreal in the full light of early morning. But he was humming as he talked to himself, for he knew the difference between vision and reality.
When he had finished his morning prayers and was capping the incense, Hori was announced. Khaemwaset handed the long incense holder to Ib and turned to greet his son. But the warmth in his heart that he wished to spread over everyone he met today was dampened as he watched the young man approach. Hori was limping, of course, but it was his face that gave Khaemwaset pause. He was pale, even haggard, with black smudges under his eyes and a stoop to his ordinarily straight spine. Concerned, Khaemwaset’s eyes flew to the knee, fearing infection, but the gash had closed well and the stitches were all visible. “Hori, what ails you?” he asked.
Hori looked surprised and then shrugged. “Do I look that ill?” he said with an attempted grin. “My knee hurts, Father, but I don’t suppose you will want to remove the stitches until the last moment because of where the injury is. May I sit down?”
“Of course.”
“I did not sleep well,” Hori went on, lowering himself into the chair by Khaemwaset’s couch. “I cannot remember what I dreamed but it was terrible, dark and full of foreboding and menace, and I woke feeling sick. It is wearing off now.”
Khaemwaset sat on the couch and observed him carefully. You need three or four days of strict fasting,” he said. “Let your body cleanse itself and your ka become quieter.”
“You are probably right,” Hori agreed. “I wish you had cast the horoscopes, Father. Phamenoth will soon be upon us and I do not like going blind through the days not knowing my unlucky hours. I find it impossible to make correct decisions.” He was not speaking directly into his father’s face. His gaze roved the room and his hands were woven tightly together.
“Something else is troubling you,” Khaemwaset insisted. “I will cast the horoscopes for Phamenoth, I promise, but will you not talk to me, Hori? Let me help you.”
Now Hori’s glance came to rest on his father and he smiled. “There is nothing wrong believe me, Prince. I will take your advice and fast. I think that Antef and I have been imbibing too freely, eating too recklessly and falling into bed too often. with the dawn.”
Khaemwaset, remembering his moment of unease on Tbubui’s path the previous night, shivered a little. “Antef is due to return today.”
“Yes.” Hori pulled himself straighter. He had not yet been painted and Khaemwaset was relieved to see that already some colour was flushing his cheeks and his eyes were regaining their translucent glitter. “Father, have you taken another look at the scroll yet?”
Khaemwaset did not need to ask which scroll. For the past three months there had only been one scroll, throbbing on the edge of his consciousness like a tooth beginning to rot. “No I have not,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”
Hori’s eyes once more left his and were fastened on the far wall. “Because yesterday I paid a visit to Tbubui. I had hoped to see Sisenet but he was not at home. He is an erudite man and I thought I might discuss the tomb with him again.”
A formless anxiety blended with jealousy shook Khaemwaset. “You spent time with Tbubui?” he asked sharply. “You went there without telling me? You were alone with her?”