Act III, Scene i
Being a friend of Denmark's prince had its side effects. The most interesting of those being everyone's tendency to assume that he belonged wherever he was. The guards had learned, early on, not to stop Hamlet's friends when they tried to follow him into a room.
"Where I go, they go. I trust them with my life more than I'll ever trust you," the young prince had argued during his school days. (Hamlet could truly throw a tantrum back then, so none of the guards argued with him unless necessary.)
Hamlet guarded his companions so closely that the palace staff eventually just came to see them as extensions of Hamlet himself.
Thus, no one looked twice at Horatio loitering outside of the king's chambers. He wondered if they ever confused him for furniture.
"An' can you by no drift of conference
Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?" came the king's voice from the other side of the doors.
Eavesdropping on a king, Horatio thought wryly, I may as well sign my own death warrant.
Shifting his feet, he sought his resolve, gave it a rough tug, and reclaimed it.
Hamlet. This is for Hamlet. My life is forfeit if its preservation endangers him.
What he hoped to glean from the new monarch's conversation with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Horatio could not say. He did stand by what was agreed in the courtyard, though: "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark."
Rot spreads. If Hamlet wished to cut it off at the source, Horatio would help.
Treason, though. Are we both traitors to the crown...? No, if that...that apparition's appearance means anything, it is that nothing is as it seems.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Hamlet had kept his mouth shut after Old Hamlet's ghost had appeared, but it was obvious that he suspected Claudius of some foul play. His attitude had evolved, it seemed, in the course of that one night. Where there once had been annoyance and vague distrust of his uncle, Hamlet now seemed to carry a boiling hatred for the man.
Yes, Claudius was guilty, but of what? Had his brother's ghost appeared to convict the man of murder? It was horrible to think, but Horatio could see few other conclusions.
The scholar came back to himself just in time to hear Rosencrantz say, "We shall, my lord," and make himself scarce.
He thought of spying some more, but decided not to push his luck. The play would start soon, anyway.