Prince in Exile Read Online Free PDF

should be beaten.”
    “I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Ianna. “She can’t work as hard if she’s bruised and sore.”
    “She can go without her evening meal,” said the scribe.
    Ramose couldn’t understand why the scribe was being so lenient with the girl.
    “It’s hard to punish someone who has nothing,” observed the scribe.
    Ramose turned on his heel and went back up the stairs two at a time.
    “That’s it,” he said to himself as he rammed his belongings back into the reed bag. “I’m leaving!’

6
PHARAOH’S TOMB
    Ramose had had enough. He couldn’t stay in that place with those people. He just couldn’t. He strode down the village street. How could he be expected to live in such a squalid little house with such disrespectful people? He’d rather eat the palace scraps than their awful food. He’d have to explain to Heria and Keneben. It just wasn’t right for a prince to have to sleep on a flea-ridden bed out in the open and to have to put up with barbarians trying to steal what few possessions he had. It was too much.
    Ramose slung his bag on his shoulder and walked out of the village gate. Worrying about being stabbed or poisoned would be much easier than living in that horrible place. He missed his sister, he missed Keneben and Heria, he missed the river, he missed being waited on. He got ten strides away from the village when a voice called out.
    “Where do you think you’re going?”
    Ramose turned round. It was the slave girl, Karoya. She was sitting in the shade under the wall of the half-built mud brick building outside the village.
    “I’m going home,” Ramose replied continuing to stride away from the village. “Away from thieves and fat scribes.”
    “I thought you were an orphan and you didn’t have a home.”
    “I mean the city,” said Ramose still walking.
    “Why would you want to go to that noisy, smelly place?”
    “The part I lived in wasn’t noisy and smelly.”
    “I thought your uncle died and you had no one to care for you.”
    Ramose stopped walking. He imagined returning to the palace. The only people he could really depend upon were his sister and two servants. The queen and the vizier wanted him dead. Everyone believed he was dead already. He might not survive there for half an hour. He sat down in the sand.
    “I hate the desert.”
    “I love the desert,” said Karoya.
    “There’s nothing in the desert to love. Nothing but sand and rocks.”
    “It’s beautiful. It reminds me of my home. I come out here every morning to watch the sunrise. The sky turns pink and orange and purple.”
    Ramose looked up at the early morning sky. The colours were beautiful, like a temple painting. Voices were drifting from the village. The first tomb workers were dawdling out of the gate, talking quietly to each other as they headed off to work.
    “I want to go home,” said Ramose sadly.
    “This is your home now. You just have to get used to it.”
    “Don’t tell me what I have to do! You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
    “I know what it’s like to have to leave your home and live in a foreign place full of strangers,” said the girl.
    Ramose sighed and leaned against the wall. “What’s this building for?” he asked.
    “It’s a house for Pharaoh,” said Karoya.
    “A palace?” Ramose looked at the rough half-finished walls. “This is nothing like a palace.”
    “It’s supposed to be for the pharaoh if he ever comes to visit. The men work on it from time to time.”
    “Why would Pharaoh ever want to come to this awful place?”
    Karoya shrugged. “So are you leaving?”
    “No.”
    It was now fully light.
    “The scribe will be looking for you,” said Karoya. “Go and wait for him at the gate. He’ll think you were keen to get started.”
    “I don’t know why you think I should take the advice of a thief,” Ramose grumbled bitterly.
    “I’m not a thief,” said Karoya.
    Ramose went over to the gate to wait for the