Seer of Egypt (26 page)

“Good morning, Huy,” Amunnefer greeted him loudly and cheerfully. Several people standing close by winced and moved away. “I see by your eyes that you are suffering no ill effects from Nakht’s excellent wine. Neither am I. I drink very little.”

Unlike your wife,
Huy thought, smiling back.

“I am never drunk,” he replied. “But I am in need of hot water.” He was suddenly conscious of the braid that had worked loose in the night to spread strands of unruly hair down his back and curling onto his collarbones. He had slept fully painted and knew that his cheeks must be streaked with black kohl. He rubbed at them ineffectually. “Forgive my appearance, noble one. I did not wake my servant to wash me last night.”

“You are a considerate man.” Amunnefer indicated the stone shelf that ran around the bathhouse walls, where the jars of oil and natron were kept. “Let’s sit down and talk while we wait for a turn on the slabs. ‘Considerate’ was a word my wife often used to describe you,” he went on as they settled rather uncomfortably on the damp ledge. “She spoke often of the times when you stayed in this house and kept her company in the herb room while she wove her garlands. It’s a pity that she no longer follows that blessed pursuit. I believe that she was very adept.”

Those fingers moving so surely among the green stems scattered in her lap and all around her on the floor will haunt me forever if I let them,
Huy thought.

“Yes, she was,” he agreed aloud. “I was in love with her, helplessly and hopelessly, for years, you know.” He had not meant to say that, but Amunnefer had an air of guileless warmth about him that quickly melted any barrier between himself and another. Too late, Huy recognized it as an admirable attribute for a future Governor.

Amunnefer laughed. “Yes, I do know. She told me. What agonies we suffer in the throes of young love, don’t we, Huy? It’s a good thing that we grow up and away from such dangers. The sober affection that grows slowly in a marital union lasts much longer and is far less uncomfortable.”

Ruthlessly, Huy quashed the urge to ask him how much he loved Anuket, how he could tolerate the shame of her behaviour day after day, how and when such behaviour had come about. Instead he nodded. “So I am told, not having a wife myself. But tell me about your venture into poppy growing, noble one. My interest is larger than my investment of gold.”

“I, or now I should say ‘we,’ have ten arouras of land south of Weset—on the east bank, of course, just out of reach of the Inundation—and another ten arouras on the verge of the lake at the oasis of Ta-she, in the desert west of Mennofer. His Majesty was anxious that Egypt should begin to produce her own drug. Every physician wants a constant supply of it, of course, and importing it from Keftiu and the Bend of Naharin, far to the northeast, was becoming very expensive for His Majesty. That’s why he has allowed me to attempt cultivation.” He grimaced ruefully. “His Majesty deeded the arouras to me. They were khato, and had reverted to the Horus Throne. But I had to buy the seeds and the knowledge of two foreign overseers myself. No one is as rich as Pharaoh! The sowing was done two years ago, after the land had been thoroughly cleared. The overseers send me reports every week. I am learning that the handling of the mature plants and the extraction of the drug is a delicate business. The quality is not as potent as the imported poppy—not yet, anyway. But you’ve made a very wise investment that should result in much gold for you, me, and the Horus Throne.”

“When is the harvest?”

“Flowers appear during Epophi, eight months from the sowing, but the crop at Ta-she was sown first. The sowings are staggered so that we do not have to wait for our reward! If you are ever in Weset, come and see the arouras for yourself. I spend too much time there at the moment. I’m anxious that no calamity takes our profit away from us.”

“In the meantime, the King will continue to supply me with the drug.”

Amunnefer shot him a sympathetic glance. “Everyone knows how much pain you suffer after a Seeing. The King told me how concerned for you he was when you almost collapsed in his presence after the marvellous predictions you made for him.”

“He did?” Huy was astonished. He and Ishat had been living hand to mouth on a noisy street in Hut-herib when the King, on his way to make war on the recalcitrant tribes of Rethennu, had summoned Huy to See for him. Every prediction Atum had given Huy for the King had come to pass, but no thanks had arrived from His Majesty Amunhotep the Second for months. Huy had resigned himself to the King’s ingratitude and had believed himself forgotten until his and Ishat’s fortunes had been changed overnight by His Majesty’s decree.

“He did. Would you like me to send you copies of the letters I receive from the overseers of the poppy fields?”

“Yes, indeed! I’ll be anxious to follow the progress of our venture.” Huy stood and bowed. “There are bathing slabs available now and my servant is waiting to wash me. I thank you for allowing me to entrust you with my gold, noble one, and I wish us both great success. Greet Anuket for me. I may not have an opportunity to speak with her before I leave Iunu.”

“Oh, we’ll be here for a few days yet,” Amunnefer replied, “and Thothmes tells me that you and he will be visiting your old school tomorrow. Anuket will doubtless be available to you this afternoon.”

Huy’s heart sank. Bowing again, this time in agreement, he took the few steps to the nearest slab, dropped the sheet, and beckoned Tetiankh.
So I will not be able to avoid her after all,
he thought as Tetiankh untied what was left of his braid and warm water began to cascade over him.
What am I to say to her? Will she see the disenchantment in my eyes and be distressed? I need Ishat’s sharp tongue to remind me how shabbily I was treated. Surely she would tell me not to waste any sympathy on the bitch because sympathy would weaken me when facing her.
Huy smiled ruefully as Ishat’s voice echoed scornfully in his mind.

Later, shaved, oiled, and clothed in fresh linen, he made his way to the rear garden, where a long table had been set up and its contents covered with a cloth. Servants waited behind it to serve the guests. Huy had his plate filled with cold duck, bread, and a few dried figs, picked up a cup of beer, and, looking about for a shady spot, saw Nasha sitting by the acacia hedge with cushions piled around her and her body servant kneeling at her side, wringing water from a piece of linen. Huy approached her cautiously, and seeing him come, she raised a languid hand. “Sit by me if you like, Huy, but don’t speak above a whisper and try to eat quietly. I’m so ill this morning that I couldn’t even bear to have my hair combed. I should have stayed in my room, but it stinks of wine fumes and my own body. Gods, how stupid I am! Still, it was a marvellous marriage feast, wasn’t it?”

Huy lowered himself onto one of the cushions. Nasha was peering at him through swollen, slitted eyes. The servant pressed the damp linen to her forehead and she sighed. “It doesn’t help much. I took a dose of castor oil when I crawled off my couch, and I’ve been drinking the infusion of fenugreek our physician gave me to cleanse my stomach and calm my liver, but I still feel like a week-old corpse. The physician is very busy this morning. Father is a little stronger. Having Thothmes married at last has been a relief to him, seeing that I am almost certainly condemned to remain a virgin for the rest of my life. Give me a sip of your beer. I’m still thirsty even though I’ve drunk the river dry. And keep that plate away from me—the smell of the duck is nauseating.”

“I love you, Nasha,” Huy chuckled, passing her his cup and watching her nose disappear into it. “And you love wine. Don’t deny it.”

“I won’t.” She licked her pale lips and passed the cup back to him. “I do love it, but I thank Ra, my totem, that I do not love it the way my sister does. And speaking of Ra, before you ask, Thothmes and Ishat ate their early meal in their bedchamber and now they are in the temple, carrying offerings of thanks to Ra for their joining. They’ll be back on their couch like the rest of us this afternoon. Isn’t that the captain of your guard?”

Huy turned to see Anhur scanning the grounds. When he saw Huy, he nodded, obviously satisfied, and went away again.

“He watches you very closely, doesn’t he?” Nasha observed, holding out her arms so that her body servant could soak her wrists. “If you’ve finished eating, why don’t we play sennet for a while? I refuse to move until the last of the guests have left.”

She sent her woman for the game, and Nasha and Huy settled down with the cones and spools. Huy was glad to be occupied. If Anuket appeared, she would see that he was busy and not alone. He knew that he was being cowardly, but for the moment he did not care. He wished fervently that he could scoop up Ishat, get onto their modest barge, and go home.

By noon, all the guests but the members of the family had gone. An exhausted silence seemed to settle over Nakht’s estate. Food had been set out in the hall, but no one appeared to eat it. Huy, like everyone else, took to his couch early for the afternoon sleep, and did not wake until the sky outside his window had begun to fade to pink. He had Tetiankh dress him in clean linen and paint his face before he went downstairs, hoping to find Thothmes or Ishat, but only the servants preparing the hall for the evening meal greeted him. In the end, feeling lost, he wandered out into the garden, walking slowly along the narrow paths that wound between flower beds and shrubbery and brought him back at last to the rear entrance of the house. Reluctant to go inside, he decided to find Anhur, who was surely not far away, and leave the estate to watch the river craft float by.

His own barge was tethered close to the water-steps. Perhaps Thothhotep would be on board.
I have never felt so rootless,
he thought as his feet found the path running straight to the steps, and he did not dare substitute the word
lonely
for
rootless
. The vine leaves clinging to the tall trellis that provided shade to either side of the path smelled sweet, patting against each other with a quiet susurration as the early evening breeze strengthened.

“Anhur, are you close by?” he called, turning towards the entrance to the house, and as he did so, he saw a woman emerge from between the pillars and come gliding towards him. Behind her, Huy saw Anhur pause and then stand still. In spite of the sudden need to run away, Huy felt his heartbeat quicken. He waited, unsmiling. Anuket did not smile either. Halting in front of him, she scanned his face, then her hands lifted to trail down his cheeks, across his eyelids, flutter gently against his mouth.

“I have dreamed of touching you again, Huy. Do you remember when I did so here in this garden, in the darkness, when you kissed me and begged me to leave my family and go with you? I was a fool to say no, but I was very young and unsure. Can you forgive me?”

Unsure of what, Anuket?
Huy thought as those seductive little hands came to rest on his naked shoulders.
Unsure of your hold over me? I do not think so. You were so cold that night, unresponsive, even cruel. You knew that it did not matter how you behaved towards me, that I would carry my love for you wherever I went, whatever you did.
The slowly bronzing light was gentle on the features she was lifting to his gaze, softening the premature lines traced there by her indulgences, giving the sallow skin a youthful flush, but it could not erase the slight pouches under those huge eyes or the fold under the determined chin.
How dare you demolish such a long-held and familiar fantasy with this gross distortion, Anuket!
he demanded silently, full of a sudden and wholly irrational anger.
How dare you render the pain of the years behind me worthless!

He stepped back so that she was forced to drop her arms. “There is nothing to forgive,” he answered her smoothly. “I also was young and unsure. You were a part of the security I was leaving behind. I wanted to take that part with me, for solace. Since then I have been very happy with Ishat and my growing good fortune, and you have made a most advantageous marriage. Think nothing of it. Do not berate yourself for the foolishness of youth.”

Her expression had been changing as he spoke, the eagerness replaced by a growing sullenness that she was clearly struggling to control. “Ah yes, Ishat,” she said. “Your old peasant friend. Your scribe, so I’ve heard. Will you miss her in more ways than one, my handsome Huy? And is there a hidden reason for replacing her with yet another woman? Perhaps they have both been substitutes for someone else, someone you could not have?” She was unable to conquer the spite in her voice, the voice that had lost its clarity and become overlaid with a thickening of tone. Yet beneath what Huy saw as a crust, he could also see that the Anuket he remembered and loved still existed, as though he might take a hammer and tap that crust and it would fall away to reveal Anuket the water lady, slim and graceful, shy and beautiful. The image saddened him.

“What happened to you?” he said, tenderness welling up in him from the reservoir of the past. “You told me that you would never resemble the besmirched goddess Anuket of today, that you would remain pure and chaste and good. Why are you trying to destroy yourself?”

Her body jerked as though he had prodded her with a stick, and then her eyes filled with tears. “I used to envy you the powerful emotion you felt when you were near me,” she blurted. “I remember telling you that I would never allow the fire to consume me. I remember everything, Huy. But secretly, I longed to feel the fire. Sometimes I pretended that I did, and then Nasha called me a manipulator and a flirt.” Now the tears spilled over and began to trickle down her cheeks. “I believed that with marriage would come the flames, that one day I would look at my husband and all at once be filled with so much desire that I could not eat or sleep for wanting him, for needing to be in his presence, but it did not happen. Amunnefer does not understand. Only the wine understands.” Lifting the hem of her sheath, she swiped clumsily at her face, leaving a smear of black kohl on the thin white linen.

Huy did not know what to say.
Is this an act to ensnare me once more? A kind of insanity? An excuse she tells herself? What?