House of Illusions (41 page)

“Let him come in.”

The linens the man poured upon the couch were like rivulets of iridescent water. The ornaments—necklets, bracelets, rings, anklets, thin, delicate coronets—glinted and flashed in the shaft of sunlight pouring through the open doorway. Gold, silver, turquoise, jasper, carnelian, moonstones, even the leather sandals he was placing in careful pairs on the floor were encrusted with gems. I approached this sumptuousness with reverence, fingering linens of the twelfth grade, so fine that my still-rough fingers could scarcely confirm their texture. Isis and the man waited while I picked up and put down one precious thing after another, trying, in a mood of astonished humility, to choose just one sheath, one pair of sandals, from this profusion of riches. Finally I decided upon a yellow sheath bordered in silver thread and sandals with tiny clustered balls of silver set between each toe. Gold bracelets mounted with turquoise scarabs went around my forearms and I set a pectoral of linked golden scarabs around my neck. Lastly I lifted a thin fillet of gold and settled it on my forehead. Its circle was engraved with ankhs to symbolize to myself my entry into a new life. “What of the rings?” Isis asked, but I shook my head, spreading out my hands in front of her.

“These are not yet fit for adornment,” I said. “They are thick and swollen. Perhaps tomorrow.” The man began to gather up the articles.

“The yellow was a good choice, Lady,” he told me. “It suits you.” I thanked him and he hefted the treasures and went out. I turned to Isis, feeling rather lost.

“What shall I do now?” I asked, more to myself than her. “I want to see my son but I cannot. I would be content, but for that. How long will it take for the Prince’s soldiers to return from Aswat I wonder?”

“I can erect a canopy for you on the grass or under a tree,” Isis suggested. “We can play board games. I do not think it would be good for your feet to walk around the precincts though. Not until they are a little softer. I will take these papyrus sandals back to the bath house.” I knew then what I really wanted to do.

“Yes,” I said. “Set up a canopy just outside this door, not too close to the other women, and then send a scribe to me. I will dictate letters.” She hurried to do as I had requested, eager to please me, the Prince’s guest, and soon I was sitting amid a pile of bright cushions in the shade of the wide white linen roof, the cell behind me and the vivid, sun-dappled lawn before. Was it my imagination, or were some of the women pointing my way and whispering? It would be too much to hope that those who knew me in disgrace would all be dead or banished to the Fayum or moved to other quarters. But none of them approached me, and before long a scribe came up to me and bowed, his palette tucked under his arm, and for a while I forgot their curious stares.

I dictated a letter to Men, thanking him for the stand he had taken on my and Kamen’s behalf. He had done so out of his trust in Kamen’s word no matter how ridiculous the story had sounded, and I admired such loyalty. I also spoke through the scribe to Nesiamun and his daughter, thanking them for their kindnesses. After draining the beer Isis had left by my elbow, for so much talking after so long had dried my throat, I dictated a short letter to Kamen himself, telling him that I was well, eager to see him, and anxiously awaiting news of our fate. I was careful for the sake of the woman who had raised him not to express my newly found love for him too strongly, for I did not want to pierce a heart that was surely already aching with loss. I knew exactly how she must feel. I had believed him lost for nearly seventeen long years, not knowing whether he was alive or dead, healthy and adored or unhappy and rejected. And while I suffered, she had watched him grow, cuddled and nourished him, delighted in every small change that signalled his slow progress towards the intelligent, kind young man I had discovered. Now she, in her turn, must let him go, for could I not claim him now as my own? Was it not my turn to relish his existence? I did not want to hurt Shesira, but Kamen was mine. When all this was over, he and I would leave Pi-Ramses together. Exactly where we would go I was not sure, but having found him I had no intention of ever saying goodbye to him again. He could marry Takhuru, if he liked. She was beautiful and of noble birth and I approved of her spirited disposition, so like my own. But she would have to live with us.

Lastly I dictated a long missive to my dear brother, telling him of all that had happened since I had begged him to lie for me and assuring him that at last his care for me over the years of my exile would bear fruit. The scribe wrote steadily and of course without comment, pausing only at the end to ask me whether I wished to sign the sheets of papyrus myself. I did so. Then he stoppered his ink, put away his brushes, and rose. “The letters within Pi-Ramses will be delivered today,” he said, “but the one to Aswat will not go out until a Herald is sent south on imperial business. Probably tomorrow.”

“But that is wonderfully prompt!” I laughed. “I had forgotten how efficient the harem staff can be. Thank you.” He shot me an inscrutable glance and left.

For a while I sat lazily watching the ebb and flow of the bright women patchworking the grass. I was conscious of the flutter of the gossamer yellow linen against my calves, the gentle weight of the golden circlet pressing into my forehead, the dull gleam of the scarabs forever crawling towards my wrists. All was complete. Nothing more was required of me at present. No temple chore to be done, no garden to be weeded, no Herald to be approached with beating heart and hidden shame. No more panic, no more hiding, no more need to quell those gusts of near despair that had been the companions of so many nights. Everything in me was beginning to unwind, loosen, grow fluid with life again. Settling back, I gazed up into the ethereal ceiling of the canopy while my eyes grew heavy and then closed. I slept, and did not hear Isis kneel beside me with a tray laden with the delicacies of the noon meal. She was still there when I woke an hour later, protecting the food that had been officially tasted in the kitchens and must remain inviolate.

For three weeks I lived a lazy, pampered life, rising whenever I woke, spending long hours in the bath house and under the hands of the masseur and the cosmetician, adorning myself each day in whatever rich attire I chose. My skin began to gleam again, my hands and feet to soften, my hair to lose its brittle, unkempt wiriness. The copper mirror held before my face increasingly showed me the returning bloom of health and I no longer shrank from my reflection.

The month of Khoiak slid into Tybi. The first day of Tybi signalled the commemoration of the coronation of Horus and also that of our ailing Pharaoh. The harem emptied as the women, dressed in all their finery, got onto their litters and were carried from one celebration to another in the city, but no invitation came to me and I was glad. It was said that the King had rallied for his coronation remembrance and was presiding over the homage of his ministers and the congratulatory gift-giving of the foreign delegations. I could imagine him seated on the Horus Throne, the Double Crown on his head and the crook, flail and scimitar grasped in his large fists. The pharonic beard would be strapped to his uncompromisingly square chin. Cloth of gold would hide his wide girth. But his hennaed eyes would be puffy with fever and tiredness no matter how skilled his cosmetician and I did not think that Queen Ast, surely seated beside him like a stiff and dainty doll, would spare him a great deal of sympathy. Her own kohled eyes would be on her son the Prince, virile and handsome, exuding a vitality that the guests would not be able to help comparing with his father’s increasing decrepitude.

Perhaps I was doing the Queen an injustice but I did not think so. I remembered her as coolly self-contained and full of the arrogance of her pristine blood. Poor Ramses, I thought as I wandered to the quiet bath house through the deserted courtyard. I loved you once, an emotion basely mingled with pity, some awe and much greedy irritation, but I do not think that you have ever been loved wholeheartedly by any save perhaps Amunnakht. It is a lonely thing to be a God.

Once during those three weeks I sent to the Keeper for any news of Hui, for one night I dreamed that he was drowned and I was standing on the bank of the Nile looking down on his peaceful dead features as the water rippled over them. But Amunnakht replied through one of his Stewards that though the search for the Seer was being conducted with exemplary thoroughness, he had not been found.

Yet the dream continued to haunt me for some time. I knew that if it had been myself I had seen floating dead in the Nile’s slow washing, the omen would have been a good one, it would have meant a long life for me. Or if I had seen Hui plunging into the river, it would have signified the absolution of all his ills. But to have watched him thus in my sleep, already dead and unmoving, for that there was no easy interpretation. Did it symbolize my eventual triumph over him or was it trying to tell me something darker, something more terrible and literal? The possibility that he had killed himself occurred to me, causing me a few moments of extreme agitation, but I quickly calmed myself. Hui was incapable of suicide. He would retreat or feint, manouevre or compromise, he would always want to know what came next, right up until the instant when for him there would be nothing more. In the end the details of the dream faded and I ceased to fret over it, attributing it quite rightly to the rapid change in my circumstances and the fact that Hui’s shadow was always lurking behind my thoughts.

I received letters from Kamen and from my brother, Pa-ari, who must have sat down as soon as he read my words to him and composed a reply. He told me that he had been able to keep my absence a secret for almost two weeks but then a priest from the temple had insisted on seeing me, and my mother had pushed her way into his house, demanding to diagnose and treat my illness. This surprised me, as my mother had been vociferous in her condemnation of me, and though she had not forbidden me to enter her house, she had made it plain that she did not wish to see me. Pa-ari wrote that he had done his best to keep both of them away but without success. He had been brought before the mayor of Aswat and charged with complicity in my escape. He had been held briefly in Aswat’s one tiny prison while the mayor had sent for advice to the governor of the nome but had been released soon afterwards. The village was buzzing with speculation about me. He was overjoyed and relieved to know that I was well and that I had been reunited with my son. He expected word on his punishment at any time. I let his scroll roll up with a small rustle. By now the Prince’s men would have found the body and be on their way back north. Pa-ari would be safe to return to his pretty wife and his three children and the work of scribe he loved. That was one debt no longer dragging on my conscience.

When two weeks had gone by, I went to see Hunro. My motives were wholly selfish and unworthy of me but I could not help myself. She had pretended to befriend me. The memory of her secret superiority, her calculated lies, still burned me with humiliation and I wanted, not to gloat perhaps, but to confront her with the reality of my triumph. Of course she would not need reminding of her situation. It may have been that I needed reminding of mine.

Accordingly I requested permission to do so from Amunnakht. He sent a servant to tell me that my petition had been passed to the Prince. I waited. A reply came with surprising speed. His Highness had granted a meeting between Hunro and myself, providing both guards on Hunro’s door were present. I had expected Ramses to allow this. I had known him quite well and it seemed that he had not changed much. It would give him a secret pleasure to think of a confrontation between accused and accuser and perhaps, just perhaps, he believed I had a right to look into the eyes of the woman who had despised me and then abandoned me without regret. He had dictated his permission so that there would be no misunderstanding at Hunro’s door. I had no doubt that every word passing between us would be reported to him, but I did not care. He was welcome to any entertainment he might derive from them.

I chose a morning when I had slept well. I selected a pale azure sheath whose elegant folds accentuated the deeper blue of my eyes, and all the jewellery I put on was silver. I wore my hair loose but covered in a net of silver thread into which small turquoise flowers had been sewn. It lay shining and thick just below shoulders that had by now been buffed to the sheen and colour of fine gold. I would have commanded that my palms and the soles of my feet be hennaed but my title had been taken away from me long ago and with it the right to display the badge of nobility. I knew that I no longer resembled the peasant who had walked up the ramp and onto Kamen’s craft, but was my metamorphosis complete enough to cause Hunro distress? I hoped so. Isis anointed me with lotus perfume. I had sent her to find out in which precinct my old enemy was being held, and I was not surprised to hear that she had been placed in the children’s quarters. I too had been relegated there after I had forfeited Pharaoh’s interest by inadvertently becoming a mother.

I set off for the short walk with Isis beside me, holding the sunshade over my head. Word of my position in the harem had by now become the subject of common discussion, although how such news spread had always been a mystery to me, and the women who had stared at me with a caution almost amounting to hostility now greeted me affably. I called back to them as I crossed the lawn. Gaining the far side, I stepped into the brief gloom of the short passage that led to the narrow way between the four harem buildings and the palace itself and turned left. The children’s quarters were at the end farthest away from the main entrance, and soon Isis and I were plunging into a maelstrom of noise and activity.

I could see the guards at the far side of the open square standing on either side of a closed cell door. I approached them and halted. Both of them bore the insignia of the Prince’s Division of Horus, not that of the regular harem guards, and one of them wore a captain’s armbands. I addressed him. “I am Thu, guest of His Highness in this place,” I said formally. “I wish to speak with the prisoner.” He looked at me thoughtfully.