Seer of Egypt (15 page)

His lame attempt at humour did not amuse her. She stared up at him, her features still. “You are not making sport with me, are you,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

Huy shook his head.

“Then why are you not seeking recommendations for a more accomplished person from among your friends? Why me? I am in many ways an ignorant girl.”

The litter had been lowered behind him and the men stood waiting with obvious impatience.
There is no point in beginning this partnership with a lie,
Huy told himself.
I must presume that she knows how vulnerable an employer can be, how important it is to earn his trust.

“My scribe is also my oldest friend,” he said. “I have only two friends, Thothhotep, she and the son of the Governor of the Heq-at sepat. The two of them are to marry. They are the only people I trust completely. My household mostly consists of servants chosen for me by our Mayor.” Deliberately, he waited to see whether or not her perception was as acute as her writing skill.

“And it is the King who provides for Egypt’s Great Seer,” she said slowly. “I believe I understand. Shall I be able to trust you, Master, as you hope you may trust me?”

“Yes. Anhur, captain of my guards, will come for you with a litter tomorrow morning.”

“If I am not happy in your house, you will let me go?”

“Of course.” Huy felt suddenly exhausted. “This is Egypt, not some barbarous country. If you agree to serve me, be ready here, in this spot, with whatever possessions you wish to bring.” He turned on his heel and, taking the few steps to the litter, got into it and drew the curtains closed.
It’s done,
he thought dully.
I had no choice, Ishat. I did not intend to hire a woman, much less a girl, but somehow it has happened. You will surely see my necessity, but will you accept it?
He was too thirsty to doze on the long walk home.

Ishat was waiting for him, pacing the reception hall. He could hear the slap of her sandals as he paused in the passage to draw water from the large urn kept freshly filled each day by Seshemnefer. Drinking deeply, he went through into the relative coolness of the room. At once she ran to him, taking his arms and searching his face. “Where have you been?” she demanded sharply. “I’ve been so worried, Huy. Merenra wouldn’t tell me anything. Look at you, covered in sweat and your feet filthy with dust! You gave a reading to someone without me!”

“No.” He pulled himself out of her grasp and, going to a chair, he sat, unlacing his sandals and placing the soles of his feet on the tiles of the floor with great relief. “I’m sweaty and dusty because I had Anhur take me into the marketplace. The heat there was unbearable.”

“You had to go in person to buy something?”

“No. For Set’s sake, come and sit down, Ishat.”

“You swear by the god of chaos. Now I know that something is wrong.” Tugging one of the pretty cedar and ivory chairs close to him, she perched on its edge and leaned towards him. “The King has withdrawn his support, hasn’t he? I knew it! Buying into the incense caravans was a dangerous idea. Who told you? What did Mery-neith have to say?”

She had voiced her greatest fear, and Huy, looking into her contorted face, felt a rush of love for her. Reaching across, he ran a hand down her cheek. “It’s nothing like that, my Ishat. If I had received word from Mennofer, you would have known about it. I went into the town to hire a new scribe.”

For a moment she stared at him, blinking, obviously puzzled. “A new scribe? Whatever for? Do you think you need two of us?” Then her expression changed and, sitting back, she covered her face with both hands. “Oh gods, Huy, of course you need a new scribe.
Will
need one. I’ll be gone. I should have thought about it myself, talked to you about it, offered to select someone suitable myself. I’m so sorry.” Her hands fell into her scarlet lap. “But why the marketplace? Why not apply to Mery-neith? As Mayor he would know of many suitable men.”

“You know why. I had to choose someone entirely unconnected to any noble household.”

“Oh, of course,” she said again. “How stupid of me. But it makes me sad to think of someone else sitting on the floor at your knee, sharing your thoughts and decisions.” She laughed self-consciously. “I’m a little jealous. How hard you worked to teach me the mystery and beauty of the written word, and how hard I worked to learn! Now it is all wasted. I suppose you want me to train him.”

With alarm, Huy saw that the full import of his need was at last overtaking her. Her fingers had wound around each other and she was smiling, grimacing, in an effort to control an impulse to cry.

“Train
her
, Ishat. I have hired a woman.”

There was a moment of shocked silence, then her eyes narrowed. The action forced two tears to dribble down her cheeks. Slowly she wiped them away with her knuckles like a wounded child. “A woman,” she said with difficulty. “Why a woman, Huy? How is it that in a profession made up almost entirely of men you managed to go out and in a few hours find yourself a woman? Are you trying to replace me in every way?” Her mouth twisted. “Or perhaps the god sent you a vision in the night, a message of absolution from your impotence, and you went seeking a bedmate.” She sprang from the chair and, hands on hips, began to stride back and forth across the floor in front of him.

He was relieved. He was used to handling an angry Ishat. Her fire was familiar. Her tears were another matter entirely. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he said curtly. “If such a wonder had come to me, I should have rushed straight into your bedchamber and shaken you awake and poured it into your ears! We’ve known each other all our lives, Ishat. No one is closer to me than you. Even Thothmes doesn’t know things about me that you do!”
Please don’t use your own pain to hurt me,
he begged her silently.
My impotence is a raw, constant wound, and you know it.
“I went into the market intending to hire the best independent scribe I could find. I was drawn almost at once to this girl.”

“Girl? First it was a woman. Now it’s a girl.” She threw up her hands. “And what exactly drew you to this … girl?”

“I don’t know. Her indifference, I think.” He was trying to remain calm, to keep her calm.

“How old is she?”

“About fifteen, I think.”

“You think! You
think!
Gods, Huy, you intend to place your whole life, all the complexities of your gift, your business dealings, your very character, into the hands of a fifteen-year-old stranger?”

“No. By the time I take you south for your marriage, you will have completed her training and you will tell me honestly, Ishat,
honestly
, whether or not she will be adequate. I cannot hope to replace you, my dearest one.” He got up and, pulling her tight, he held her rigid, furious body. “But you know I cannot function without a scribe, and there is too much work for me to do myself.”

“I hate her already.” Her voice came muffled against the hollow of his shoulder, and above her head, unseen, Huy began to smile. It was going to be all right. “She will be some silly, wide-eyed child who will fall in love with you at once,” Ishat went on waspishly, “and she will end up worshipping you and your gift so utterly that she will be of no use whatsoever. How will she ever learn to give you advice as I do, let alone take a faultless dictation!” She lifted her head and looked up into his face. “How did she do at that, anyway?”

“Passably well.” Huy let her go. “I don’t expect you to like her, Ishat. Just try to prepare her for her work. I’m not trying to make a new friend. I shall still have Anhur to talk to when I get lonely.”

She stood back, smoothing down her ribboned braids and canting her head so that she could begin to unscrew her earrings. “I’m going to my couch for the afternoon. When may I expect this pupil?”

“I’ll send Anhur for her in the morning. I’m sorry, Ishat. I should have taken you with me today.”

“But you were afraid that I might make a scene.” She was already in the doorway. “We are both sorry, Huy. Every decision we have made lately has been a compromise. I hate Atum for what he has done to you. I have hated him for a long time, almost as much as I have hated the bitch who broke your heart. Rest well.”

Her last words came floating from the passage. Before following her towards the stairs and his own bedchamber, Huy stood for a moment, listening to the silence of the house.
Anuket,
he thought.
In two months I shall see you again, for surely you will come to Thothmes’ wedding feast.
Her tiny, delicate face swam into focus in his mind. Brutally he dismissed it, mounting the stairs and greeting a drowsy Tetiankh, who was waiting to wash him before seeking his own pallet.
I must decide on a wedding gift for Ishat,
Huy thought as he pulled the sheet up over his shoulder and closed his eyes.
Better if I ask her what she would like. Perhaps this evening, in the garden. I sometimes hate Atum also, my Ishat, and that is permissible as long as I am obedient to him. Soon the petitioners will line up again at my gate. This respite won’t last. Thothhotep—Ishat will laugh at the name. I hope that Thothhotep has a great deal of courage. She is going to need it all.

5

B
y the time the litter bearing Thothhotep approached the house, Ishat and Huy were standing together in the shadows cast by the entrance pillars to welcome the girl.
Or perhaps to let her know her place immediately,
Huy thought to himself, enveloped in a miasma of Ishat’s perfume. Ishat was wearing the scarlet, gold-trimmed sheath and the thick gold circlet with its large jasper resting on her forehead. The smaller ones around the rim nestled in her hair. She had removed from the circlet the net of golden threads meant to imprison her tresses. Her earlobes were heavy with electrum earrings fashioned in the likeness of Hathor’s face. Rings sat on every one of her capable fingers, and silver bracelets tinkled on her wrists at her slightest movement. Huy had not been able to repress a smile when he had seen her sweep down the stairs to greet him before they took up their station, and her chin had risen. “I have not arrayed myself like this because your new scribe is a person of importance,” she had said. “But if I am to train her, she must understand my superior position from the start. Besides,” she had finished in true Ishat fashion, “if I feel in any way inferior to her, I shall be tempted to treat her sternly.” She had grinned back at him, her carefully hennaed mouth curving upward, her kohled eyes sparkling.

“You have always somehow managed to make your honesty either a stick to beat me with or an unguent to soothe me,” Huy had retorted. “You look wonderful. You would awe even Pharaoh himself this morning.”

She had nodded. “Thank you, Huy. But perhaps the gold circlet is a little too overpowering just to impress the daughter of a sailor.”

So that was it,
Huy thought again.
The daughter of a sailor is less lower-class than the daughter of a peasant who labours in the fields. I understand. I share your roots, Ishat, but my gift has compensated me for them. Thothmes has not yet been able to lift you above your own lingering sense of inferiority.
For answer he had pulled a strand of her hair free of her earring and watched it settle against her cheek. “Your ability alone is enough to impress anyone,” he had said.

Now the litter was approaching, and at a word from Anhur it was set down. The curtains had obviously remained tied back. The form inside seemed smaller, slighter than Huy remembered, hidden as it had been by loose linens. A foot appeared, shod in a worn reed sandal, then a head capped by short, gleaming black hair. Thothhotep stepped forward and bowed. With a shock Huy saw that she was taller than the delicate hands and narrow shoulders of the day before had indicated, as tall as Ishat, and slender to the point of emaciation under a stained sheath with a tattered hem.

“Gods, Huy, is she going to collapse and die on our doorstep?” Ishat murmured as the girl straightened, her eyes flicking nervously between them. She was clutching a small linen bag to her chest. In the moment before Huy spoke, he heard Ishat sigh, a sound of both compassion and exasperation.
Good,
he thought
. Ishat’s pity always takes a practical form.

“Welcome to our home, Thothhotep,” he said. “There is beer and food for you in the reception hall. Amunmose! Take her bag up to the guest room.”

The young man emerged from behind him, smiled at the girl, and held out his hand. After some hesitation Thothhotep thrust her possessions at him. “My palette is in there,” she said breathlessly.

“My name is Amunmose. I am the under steward here, and whatever is in your bag will be perfectly safe,” Amunmose replied. “Incidentally, the leek soup waiting for you in the house was made especially for this occasion by Khnit, our cook, from my mother’s famous recipe. It may be eaten hot or cold, and today it is cold. I accompanied the Master to Khmun some years ago when he had business in Thoth’s temple. My family lives at Khmun, where my mother is well known for her kitchen skills. I—”

“Amunmose!” Ishat said sharply.

He wheeled about. “I was trying to put her at ease,” he muttered as he passed between Huy and Ishat, bag in hand. “I swear, if Anhur coughed behind her, she’d faint with fright.”

Huy indicated the doorway. “Come inside, out of the heat. Thank you, Anhur, I’ll see you at dinner. This is my scribe and my dear friend Ishat,” he went on as Thothhotep came forward. “She will be your mentor for the next two months.”

Again Thothhotep bowed. “I know that I am very privileged to be here, Lady Ishat. I promise to work hard and learn from you as quickly as I can. My name is Thothhotep.”

“You will indeed work hard,” Ishat replied as she preceded Huy into the house. “This appears to be a most informal household, Thothhotep, but that is only because the Master’s needs are varied and change from day to day. We all serve him, and he serves Atum and the King.”

They had reached the reception hall. Huy, turning to show the girl to the small, low table that would become her place at meals, saw her eyes widen as she quickly scanned the large room with its costly furnishings, its tall, gracious lampstands, the dull gleam of the black and white tiled floor, before she sank onto her cushion.
Good,
he thought again.
She is awed, perhaps even overwhelmed, but she keeps it to herself.
Ishat was watching her critically as she picked up a spoon and stared down at the bowl of soup. Huy could read Ishat’s mind.
She is wondering if she will have to teach Thothhotep social graces as well as a scribe’s skills
.
As long as she is busy organizing the girl’s life, she will forget that she is training her usurper.
But Thothhotep ate and drank politely, thanking Merenra when he refilled her bowl and cup and answering Ishat’s abrupt questions when her mouth had emptied.