Seer of Egypt (35 page)

He had been perching on the stool for no more than a few moments when a man emerged from the gloom of the palace doorway, bowed, and addressed him briskly. “I am Chief Herald Maani-nekhtef. I will announce you to His Majesty. Have you titles to be called, Great Seer?”

Huy rose, his heart thudding. “No. And please, Maani-nekhtef, announce me as Huy, son of Hapu of Hut-herib.”

“Very well. Follow me.”

The reception hall was vast. Huy heard the echo of his tread strike the lofty walls and mingle with the measured voices of the servants and soldiers whose presence was lost in that great expanse of marching pillars and smooth, tiled floor. Huy imagined it crowded with hundreds of lavishly clad, jewelled guests gathered to fete a foreign ambassador, perhaps, their conversations all but extinguishing the music of drum, lute, and finger cymbals, the perfume from the wax cones on their wigged heads or massaged into their gleaming bodies mingling with the fragrance of the thousands of blooms scattered about.

Coming to himself, he realized that he and his guide had crossed the hall and were now pacing along a series of wide corridors flanked by more guards standing between ebony totems that represented the gods and symbols of every sepat in Egypt. Their serene faces gazed unseeingly at him as he passed. He tried to spot the one for his sepat, the Am-khent, but the Chief Herald strode ahead and Huy hurried to catch up to him, suddenly bewildered by the sheer size of this holy place. Large doors opened off the passages at regular intervals, giving Huy a glimpse across dainty inlaid chairs and intricately carved little tables towards a view of gardens full of shrubs and riotous with healthy blooms, although it was the season of Shemu, when his uncle Ker’s perfume fields would be showing no more than a dense collection of drooping stems and parched leaves, the crop of flowers plucked and crushed for steeping long since. One passage ran between what were plainly the offices of various ministers, their walls pocked with niches for scrolls, their desks large and simple, each with a small flax mat beside it for a scribe, their lamps purely functional in design. Huy saw no indication of a woman’s touch, and decided that the harem quarters lay somewhere else in the complex. Perhaps foreign dignitaries were lodged in this wing of the palace, close to the ministers with whom they probably had to deal.

Suddenly they came to the end of a passage, the attending soldier opened the door, and Huy found himself blinking in strong sunlight and surrounded by lawn and a forest through which a path ran. Other buildings, their whitewashed walls bright with paintings, loomed to right and left. Each had its contingent of guards clustered about the doors. The herald had begun to slow, and directly ahead Huy saw a relatively modest structure. The soldier there was already opening the door.

“Within are the Throne Room and several private retiring rooms for His Majesty and the royal family,” Maani-nekhtef told Huy. “His Majesty gives formal audiences here, although today he has been hearing the preliminary reports on projected yields of grain. I believe that it has been a fruitful year, and of course we must now pray for a good flood.” Politely, he held up a hand. Huy gave him the scroll he had been clutching, then stood on the threshold. He could still see Maani-nekhtef’s back as the herald took a few steps into the room, bowed, waited for some signal Huy could not see, then intoned, “Huy, son of Hapu of Hut-herib, requests admittance into the presence of the One. What is Your Majesty’s pleasure regarding this desire?”

There was a spoken response in tones Huy recognized. They returned him uncomfortably to the momentous day when he had Seen for the King, when Thothmes’ attraction to Ishat had intensified, when, unknown to him, his life was about to be forever changed. He could not make out the King’s words, but the herald took the few steps back to him and indicated that he should enter. “Perform your obeisances and then wait,” he said. “The King will attend to you as soon as he may. It has been a pleasure to serve you, Son of Hapu.” He bowed, turned on his heel, and walked away with the unhurried grace and speed acquired by every herald.

Very well,
Huy thought, crossing the door’s lintel and moving into relative dimness.
I hope I can remember how to reverence Amunhotep.

The room was large, but its proportions were manageable, somehow scaled on a more human level than the awesome magnificence of the reception hall. Nevertheless, it was splendid enough, with its deep blue lapis-tiled floor in which flecks of pyrite glittered, its pale blue ceiling where Nut, the sky goddess who swallowed the sun every evening and gave birth to him every dawn, arched her body in protection over the dais at the farther end. A crowd of people had fallen silent as Huy appeared. He felt their inquisitive stares as he bent, knelt, and then prostrated himself full length, but all his attention was fixed on the occupant of the Horus Throne set in the centre of the dais. There was a pause, then the voice he knew bade him rise. He did so, bowing from the waist with arms outstretched, as Chief Steward Men had told him to do all those years ago, and standing with eyes downcast.

He had thought that the dais was empty of all but the King, but when the same voice gave him permission to look up, he saw the throne surrounded. He knew Kenamun immediately. The King’s closest friend, son of his wet nurse, was taking up almost the same position Huy remembered from the cabin on
Kha-em-Ma’at
, behind Amunhotep and with one hand resting on the rear edge of the throne. Sitting at the King’s left hand on a stool, a young man with Amunhotep’s unmistakable features was watching Huy warily, his hand joined to that of a very pretty and equally young woman in a wig of many oiled black ringlets falling to her narrow waist. A coronet of gold and green faience flowers circled her brow. Green moonstone and gold scarab earrings swung lightly against her long neck, and above the high swell of her white-clad breasts a many-stranded pectoral bearing more moonstone scarabs rested on her pale, flawless skin. To the King’s right, a man was standing awkwardly. Older than the young man on Amunhotep’s left, he was nevertheless much younger, Huy surmised quickly, than Huy himself. He too bore a marked resemblance to the King. On the floor before the dais, a series of men were ranged—ministers, favoured servants and courtiers, perhaps one or two High Priests, as well as the usual spread of palace guards. Huy’s eyes slid over them and up to the King himself.

Meeting his look, Amunhotep smiled broadly. “Welcome, Great Seer. It has been many years since you and I faced one another.” He made it sound as though they might be equals, and a murmur went up from the listening throng. “You were a clumsy stripling with the power of Atum in your fingers then,” the King went on. “Today you have become a handsome man, and they tell me that the authority of the god still pours through you.” He beckoned Huy closer. “In spite of the peasant stock from which you came, you have intelligence also, and so has your brother. We know that Heby is highly respected by the High Priest of Ptah. We were sorry to hear of the death of his wife Sapet, but our Assistant Treasurer Merira is proud that Heby has chosen his daughter Iupia to succeed the ill-fated Sapet.” His heavily kohled glance went to a man at the edge of the crowd, and Merira stepped forward and bowed, smiling at Huy.

“Indeed, Majesty, it is Iupia’s good fortune, and mine,” he said.

Amunhotep’s level gaze returned to Huy. “You also have lost someone you love, although she has not died,” he remarked. “Ishat has proved a worthy wife to my Governor Thothmes, and a valued ornament at court when he comes to make his annual report on the state of my Heq-at sepat. Do you still miss her, Huy?”

What is all this about?
Huy wondered.
Is the King reminding me that in his divine omnipotence he knows everything that passes in Egypt? And why is he paying me and Heby such compliments?

“Thothmes has been my dear friend ever since we were at school together, Majesty,” he answered carefully. “Ishat is very happy with him. I see them often. Iunu is not far from my home.”

“You did not answer the question, but it’s of no matter. Thothhotep is an adequate scribe?”

“More than adequate,” Huy hastened to say. “She is exemplary in every way.”

“Good.” Amunhotep signalled. “Men, bring a stool for the Seer.” Another murmur went up from the listening people, and this time the sound was full of a surprised incredulity. Only foreigners equal in station to the King were allowed to sit in his presence, and that only because they were equal in temporal power. Of course, the King was without peer in his divinity.

The stool was produced. The chief steward smiled at Huy and gave him a swift greeting before melting away. Self-consciously, Huy sat, awkwardly aware of the honour being done to him, and embarrassed by it. Folding one tense hand into the other, he laid them against his thigh. A moment of silence fraught with expectancy fell. No rustle of starched linen or click of gem against gem came to Huy’s ears. Even the breaths of those beside and behind him seemed stilled. The eyes of the King, his sons, the favoured ones on the dais, were fixed steadily on Huy, and he knew that the next words Amunhotep spoke would reveal the purpose of his, Huy’s, presence here. Dread filled him with its familiar metallic taste, stiffening his limbs and cramping in his bowels. He still had no presentiment of what was to come, what mysterious crime he might have unknowingly committed. Since hearing the contents of the scroll now being held by His Majesty’s Scribe, he had been sure that no royal gift was awaiting him here in the palace at Mennofer.

10

“T
his is my son Prince Thothmes,” Amunhotep said, indicating the young man on his right. “He has had a dream of great prophetic power that requires a most careful interpretation. The High Priests of Ptah, Neith, and Hathor of the Sycamore have all rendered a conclusion. The Purified of each temple have also spoken. But Thothmes has begged me to invite an opinion from Egypt’s greatest Seer, for surely a perfect understanding of this matter will come from the creator-god through his chosen vessel. Atum’s words to my son will flow from your mouth, Son of Hapu.”

Huy felt himself go cold, so cold that he needed to clench his teeth together to prevent them from chattering. He forced his gaze to remain locked on the King’s face.
How old is he now?
he wondered idiotically.
Forty-three? Forty-four? He has not changed much since his Appearing. He was in his early twenties when he made war so confidently in Rethennu because Atum had told me of his victories. His colour is too high, though. The veins stand out on his neck and his brow beneath the rim of the uraeus. Something is wrong here. I sense it, like the wind that sometimes blows in from the desert and brings a pestilence with it. I read it in his eyes. He knows what he wants from me, and it is not something benign.

“Majesty, I am not one of the Purified,” he managed to say, hearing the strain in his own tones. “I am not an interpreter of dreams or prophecies. Atum heals and tells the future through me. I was not chosen for any other work.”

The royal forefinger began to tap against the arm of the gilded throne. “Have you been asked to unravel the meaning of dreams before? Have you ever given Atum the opportunity to do so through you?”

“No, Majesty.”

“Then how do you know that the gift does not lie dormant in you, waiting for a moment such as this to be released?” Amunhotep leaned out over the gold-shot kilt hiding his muscular thighs. “Is it not true that visions of our future often come to us in dreams?”

“So the Purified say.”

“Then what the Prince asks of you is very little different from the usual exercise of your ability.” He sat back.

Another pregnant silence fell, and this time Huy was fully aware of the quick breaths around him, as though the courtiers and ministers had just completed some sort of strange race.
I’m trapped,
he told himself frantically.
I cannot argue against his point, though I know that some
where it is flawed. I can’t think of the right words to get me out of this magnificent room and back to the safety of my barge. Amunhotep will have his way—but why? Why does he need an interpretation from me? Because my
pronouncements are respected as truth throughout the country and thus I give validation to… to what? Anubis, whisper to me! Tell me what to do!
He waited, but the grating voice of the god did not come. In the end he sighed inwardly.

“I am Your Majesty’s servant,” he said. “Your will is the will of Amun. I will hear this dream.”

The King’s black eyebrows drew together in a swift frown and his grip tightened on both arms of the throne.
I’ve offended him,
Huy thought in dismay.
But how?

At a muttered word from his father, Prince Thothmes kissed the hand of the girl beside him, let it go, and rose. He was taller than he had looked when seated, leaner than Amunhotep, his muscles lying long and close to his bones. Now he resembled his brother, the older man on the King’s left. Huy knew he ought to get off the stool and reverence the Prince, but he also knew that his knees would tremble.

“I thank you, Great Seer, for your august attention in this matter,” Thothmes said. His voice was surprisingly deep and rich for such a young man. “I value your interpretation of my dream above all the priests I have consulted. Know, then, that I was out hunting in the desert west of the mighty tombs of my ancestors. I was alone with my horse and chariot. I often leave my guards and servants by the pool of Pedjet-she, just beyond the canal, so that they may enjoy the shade of the sycamores there while I hunt lions and gazelles by myself. It is what I prefer.” He paused, and Huy, thoroughly mystified, had the time to wonder why he was being told such inconsequential details before the Prince continued. “At midday I became tired and thirsty. Leading my horse into the shadow of the great head that juts out of the sand, he that we call Harmachis-Khepera-Ra-Temu, I drank from my water skin, lay down on my cloak, and fell asleep.” He paused again, his arms at his side, his glance going to the spangled ceiling, and all at once it seemed to Huy that he was like a schoolboy using a brief respite to remember what next to recite.