Seer of Egypt (3 page)

Huy grew to value the precious three days when his garden lay empty of strangers and the house remained quiet but for the polite comings and goings of the few servants. During that time his headaches began to ease, although he still dosed himself with the poppy against the fourth day, when they returned as he went about the business of Seeing for those lucky enough to be admitted.

For a month the new routine ran its course. Pieces of jewellery began to arrive from the craftsman, each wrapped in white linen and placed in a soft leather bag with drawstrings. Ishat withdrew them reverently. Huy shared her admiration. They were both delicate and bold, each creation seeming to Huy to reflect a combination of the facets of Ishat’s personality. The man had done his work well, with intuition and skill.

“This one,” Ishat said, holding up a thick gold circlet from which a single large red jasper hung to rest in the centre of her forehead, with smaller orbs of the stone set around its upper rim, “this one I shall save for meeting the King’s ministers. Look, Huy! A net of golden threads is attached to its back, to hold my hair. How very elegant. But I like the silver one too. So simple. A thin band hung with tiny silver ankhs. I shall wear it every day.”

“But silver is much more rare and expensive than gold,” Huy told her, amused. “The King’s ministers would be far more impressed by the silver band than by the gold and jasper one.”

“Perhaps. Do you like the earrings he made for you, Huy? Three tiny scarabs of green turquoise hanging onto each other? And the one of Ra-Harakhti, Ra at the dawn, the hawk’s feathers inlaid with blue faience, and the Disc of the sun on his head done in pale yellow chalcedony so smooth that the light flows over it? The gold talons of the bird almost brush your shoulder.”

“Yes, I do like them, and the belts of gold links and the decorated sandals. The servants are more pleased than you are, have you noticed, Ishat? I suppose that now they can feel we are worthy of their ministrations. They are even more snobbish than you!”

“May the gods grant that I never develop the arrogance of riches!” she said fervently. “My rings, bracelets, and necklets are to come.” She lifted the silver circlet and placed it on her head. “Let’s go on the river in our new barge at sunset and drink wine and watch Ra being swallowed up by Nut. You can fish. Your head is better today, is it not? And I can lean on the railing while the sandbars glide by. Oh, Huy! What a dream I am living!”

But before they walked up the ramp and onto the cedar deck of the barge that still smelled of sweet wood and paint lacquer, Huy dictated an invitation to his family and to Ishat’s; one to Thothmes, Nakht, and Nasha; one to High Priest Ramose; and one to the Rekhet. Ishat, in her role as his scribe, looked up at him from her perch on the floor as she capped her ink and flexed stiff fingers. “I hope they don’t all come at once,” she said.

They ate their evening meal aboard their boat while the litter-bearers, learning to double as sailors under the sharp eye of Ibi, a captain Merenra had hired permanently, rowed them clumsily upstream and back to their watersteps as the river turned from brown to gold to red and the long shafts of the sun’s last rays began to shred over its rippled surface. Dust motes danced in the pink light. The evening breeze sprang up. Ishat took Huy’s arm as they stood contentedly side by side, her long black hair lifting with the moving air, her eyes closed with pleasure against the glare of Ra’s final burst. Neither of them spoke. Huy too allowed himself a moment of unadulterated serenity. His head was free of pain, his mind calm. The captain’s peremptory commands began to echo against the riverbanks as the sun’s rim disappeared, and suddenly the sky opened up above, a new presence of pale blue and weakly blinking stars.

Ishat opened her eyes and sighed. “I will not think of Ra’s twelve transformings as he battles through the womb of Nut,” she murmured. “I will concentrate on lamplight and a bath and then a quiet night on my couch. We are approaching the watersteps, Huy. Now who is that, standing just outside the gate with Kar beside him? Your scrolls of invitation haven’t left the house yet.”

Huy’s heart sank. He was not expecting a visit from a court official, but doubtless many of them felt they possessed the right to demand his attention whenever they chose. The watersteps drew nearer. At Ibi’s shout, the oars were shipped and the ramp lifted from its resting place against the railing. Huy peered through the gathering gloom at the tall figure now striding onto the topmost stone step, and recognition struck him in a burst of gladness.

“Anhur! It is Anhur, Ishat!” He waved and the man waved back. The boat bumped the foot of the watersteps, the ramp was run out, and Huy hurried to embrace his old friend. “We did not expect you so soon!” he breathed as they pulled apart. “There has been no word from Commander Wesersatet! He must have petitioned the One and then released you from the army very quickly.”

“He did.” Anhur took Huy’s shoulders and stood back, surveying him critically. “It seems that whatever the Seer wants, the Seer gets, particularly now, when the Queen has presented the country with a Hawk-in-the-Nest and His Majesty is happily scattering favours to all and sundry like chaff in the wind. I barely remembered you until the King ordered Wesersatet to replace me in the Shock Troops and send me to guard you. Gods, young Huy, look at you! How old were you when I saw you last? Thirteen? You’ve become a handsome man, but I’d still recognize those eyes. Is there anything to eat? It’s been a long march and we’re starving.”

“We?”

Anhur waved towards the house. “I’ve brought ten soldiers with me. The King didn’t know how much protection you needed. Neither do I. Is ten enough? What are we supposed to be protecting you from? Demons and angry priests?”

Huy laughed. “I’ll explain while Merenra finds you all some food. Anhur, this is my companion and scribe, Ishat.”

Anhur turned to Ishat, waiting patiently at Huy’s elbow. He bowed. Ishat extended a hand.

“Welcome to our home,” she said formally. “Huy has told me all about the time you spent together at Thoth’s temple in Khmun.”

Anhur enfolded her fingers in his own large paw, then he bent and retrieved the spear and shield leaning against the still-open gate. Behind the three of them, the boat was being moored to its post and the ramp run in. The crew dropped into the water and, wading to the steps, bowed briefly before disappearing into the strengthening darkness. Kar had ambled back to his hut just inside the gate.

“Thank you, Lady Ishat,” Anhur responded.

Ishat shook her head. “I’m no noblewoman, Anhur. Call me Mistress, or Ishat. Now I suppose I had better find Merenra and he had better drag Khnit away from her stool and back to the kitchen. How many men must she feed?” At a nod from Huy, she turned towards the house.

Anhur watched her go. “You are wedded to her, Huy?” he wanted to know as he and Huy followed more slowly. “She is your wife? Well, good for you. She’s very beautiful.”

“Ishat is not my wife,” Huy replied swiftly. “She’s my oldest friend and a partner in my work.”

“And you can resist that loveliness? What’s wrong with you? What work are you engaged in?”

“Later.” Huy smiled across at the blunt features he remembered so well. Already he felt more secure, as though with Anhur’s arrival a cloak of protection had been cast invisibly over the estate and everyone in it. This was the man who had refused to leave his side during his difficult days in Khmun, who had stepped between him and an enraged Sennefer, who as a boy had attacked him with a throwing stick, precipitating his death and miraculous resurrection, and who had been banished to the temple school at Khmun, where he had again attempted to harm Huy. “Now we must fill your belly. Has my steward found accommodation for your men?”

“Your steward,” Anhur said heavily. “The gods have certainly smiled on you, haven’t they? No, there aren’t enough cells in your servants’ quarters, but it will only take a week or two to buy mud bricks and erect another row. My soldiers can pitch their tents and sleep in their blankets until then. They’ll be content as long as there’s plenty of food and beer.”

Together they entered the house. Tetiankh and Iput were moving quietly about, lighting the standing lamps in the reception hall. They bowed briefly to both men, curiosity in their gaze.

Anhur blew out his breath. “What do you have to do for the King to earn all this? I thought you’d end up serving the priests of Ra at his temple in Iunu when you finished school. I never imagined something like this for you, and of course when we spoke briefly to each other during Pharaoh’s visit to Hut-herib, there wasn’t time to exchange any news.”

“I’ll tell you everything while you eat,” Huy repeated. “Afterwards I’ll take you over the house and grounds. The estate is small and will be easy to patrol. The disposition of the soldiers will be all yours, Anhur. I see that Merenra has already set out a table and cushions for you. Sit down.”

Anhur dropped his equipment on the tiled floor with a clatter. “I’ll see to the feeding of my men first. May I go through to the kitchen? I presume it’s outside at the rear.”

“Of course. I’ll come with you and meet them. I’m so glad you’re here!”

Later, Huy and Ishat sat with him as he folded himself behind the low table laden with the meal Khnit had provided; Merenra stood a short distance away, holding the beer jug ready to serve him. The elegant room was quiet, full of a peaceful, soft light from the steady glow of the alabaster lamps placed around the painted walls. Anhur pulled off his crumpled linen helmet, ran a hand through greying hair, and began to eat, swiftly and methodically. While he did so, Huy related the events of his life since they had parted. Anhur listened carefully, glancing up from his emptying platters occasionally to nod or raise his thick eyebrows in surprise.

When Huy fell silent, Anhur drained his goblet and, holding it out to Merenra for more beer, said, “And what about that magic Book you were reading at Khmun, Huy? Did you finish it? Weren’t you supposed to interpret it for High Priest Ramose? I remember that the Chief Librarian, Khanun, at Khmun’s House of Life, was eager to hear the results when you were done.”

“I finished it,” Huy answered reluctantly. “I have yet to understand its secrets fully. I do not think about it much anymore, Anhur. I am stretched thin with the exercise of healing and Seeing. One day perhaps I shall have enough time to ponder it anew.”

He did not add that the thought of the Book of Thoth plunged him into sadness and a sourceless guilt when its words crept unbidden into his mind, and that he deliberately turned away from any thought of it, and of the sacred Ished Tree under whose branches he had first unrolled it. It was all there in his consciousness, ready to scroll through his thoughts like some portentous spell full of power whose meaning eluded him. He had agreed to read it while his body lay cold and lifeless in Hut-herib’s House of the Dead and his ka stood before the great Imhotep, who had offered the boy Huy the choice. Huy, drenched in the sunlight of Paradise while the Judgment Hall lay dim and forbidding behind him, had agreed to the will of the creator-god Atum. At twelve years old, he had not considered the cost, had not been warned that in doing so he would become Atum’s property and tool. As long as he did not think about the Book, he need not be angry. As long as he moved from day to day through the tasks set before him by the acquisition of his peculiar gift, he need not look into his own future and that one duty he had been unable to fulfill.

Anhur swallowed his last mouthful, emptied his goblet yet again, and pushed the table away. “Luckily, I don’t have to worry about such mysterious things. Give me a practical task that has a practical solution and I’m happy. Well, I’d better order a guard for the house and gate tonight, see that the men are comfortable, and set up my cot somewhere.” He grinned. “I won’t miss being a member of His Majesty’s Shock Troops, but I hope I won’t be bored, trudging up and down your passages.”

“You can sleep in the guest room until your men have built you a suitable home,” Ishat said. They were the first words she had spoken all evening.

Anhur shook his head and rose, snatching up his wilted headdress as he did so. “If I’m to keep discipline among my ten, I must be with them, but thank you, Mistress,” he replied. “I wish you both a safe rest. If you hear footsteps in the night, don’t be alarmed—it will be one of the soldiers patrolling inside the house.” He bowed and quickly vanished into the shadows.

Merenra began to clear away the debris of the meal and Ishat turned to Huy. “I like him and you obviously trust him,” she said. “But extra cells to have built, extra mouths to feed, means too much work for Khnit and Merenra. We must hire an under steward, Huy, and another cook, and perhaps a couple more house servants.” She sighed. “Is this the negative side of how rich people live?”

“Yes.” Huy got to his feet and held a hand down to her, fighting a sudden sense of suffocation. “You’re right, Ishat. Merenra can see to it as soon as he has the time. We will adapt to this as we have bent to every gust of fate that has blown at us.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and called for Tetiankh and Iput. When they came, lighted tapers in their hands, he followed them and Ishat up the stairs, bade her sleep well, and went into his own bedchamber.

Tetiankh put the taper to the lamp beside the couch, and as a glow of light began to diffuse through the large room, he bowed to Huy. “Master, if you will wait until I have drawn fresh water from the barrel downstairs to put on your table, I can then prepare you for sleep. Do you need an infusion of poppy tonight?”

Huy considered.
Well, do I? I have no pain, but the drug does give me a deep and dreamless sleep. Without it, I am afraid of the visions the god might send me. Yet I am doing his will to the best of my ability, so why would he accuse me? Nevertheless, my work is arduous. I must have a good rest.
He knew that he was edging his thoughts towards a justification for taking the poppy, knew that the desire for it existed apart from any rationalization he might conjure, and stopped trying to deceive himself.