Seer of Egypt (52 page)

“I have absolutely no intention of transgressing Ma’at and earning myself an unfavourable Weighing by having Amunemhat murdered,” Mutemwia hissed. “Are you suggesting such a dreadful thing? But mark this, Huy. Atum has spoken through you. My son will reign, not his uncle—of this I am determined. Much as I love the Prince, his years in Mitanni will not have fitted him for godhood. My son will fully restore Ma’at and the worship of Amun as Egypt’s pre-eminent deity. This I can promise you, and I believe that if you chose to take my son’s hand in yours, you would See a return to such harmony in his future!”

Huy could sit still no longer. Rising to his feet on legs gone weak, he bowed for her forgiveness in standing without her permission. “Highness, you have not heard me,” he managed. “Sometimes my visions of their future become … twisted in the lives of those for whom I See. This happens often enough for me to doubt the validity of what Atum sends. Or rather, I fail to see how the future fate of some may be warped into the fate of a member of their kin. What if Prince Amunhotep comes back from exile and demands his rightful place?”

“I heard you,” she answered calmly. “I know my friend. He will come back wanting nothing more than a peaceful life on his estates. He will not forget the strain and fear under which he lived before he left.”

Huy’s throat went dry. “Will he fear you, Highness?”

“I swear on the life of my precious baby that he will never have reason to fear me. Or him. You will see to that if you take up the burden I wish to lay upon you.” Once more her regard became critical. Her eyes travelled his face. He watched her note the tension apparent in his chest before her gaze returned to his mouth. His breath had become shallow. “You are sweating, Huy,” she said kindly. “The time for your evening poppy is long past. You have become entirely reliant upon the drug, have you not?”

Who spies for you in my household?
he thought, close to despair.
Whom have you suborned since you and I met in the passages of the palace? Must I scatter my staff and hire strangers?

She waved one graceful hand dismissively. “No, I have no spy here on your estate. The Mayor of Hut-herib, Mery-neith, sent me a scroll containing everything pertaining to you and your family he had gleaned from his taxation records and his work among the townspeople. The High Priest of Ra, Ramose, now retired, answered my request for a report on you in glowing terms. Governor Thothmes and his lovely wife Ishat visited me in my quarters at my request, and I myself, yesterday, met with your good friend the priest Methen. I am no pretty harem acquisition, Huy,” she said scornfully. “I administer my own estates, I make sure I know exactly what passes among the King’s many women, I watch and listen at every royal audience. No one spoke ill of you. Yet, on examining their words, written or spoken, I deduced much that they did not say. Your failure to speak out regarding my husband’s so-called dream I knew about from my Prince now in exile. The probability of your sexual wounding at Atum’s will—Ishat hinted at this during our conversation when she remarked that you suffered from all the strictures imposed by the gods on Egypt’s Seers through the ages. She would not elaborate, but her polite stubbornness gave me my answer. The sense of responsibility you display towards the townspeople and peasants of this sepat is evidence of your compassion and discipline. Your growing dependency on the opium poppy is unfortunately inevitable, given the pain Atum inflicts on you.”

She swung to her feet and, coming around the table in a swirl of thin linen and a rush of perfume, cradled his face in her hands. The gesture, so smooth and unexpected, nearly unmanned him. “Will you be able to control it?” she said gently. “You must control it, Huy, if you are to guide my son through his destiny as the Incarnation of Amun. I have seen the dissolution of those nobles whose greed for the poppy now rules their lives. They have become prisoners of the drug.” For a moment those warm palms lingered on his face, then she removed them and folded her arms. “This is Egypt,” she continued with seeming irrelevance. “As a Princess my power to command you is limited, therefore I merely beseech you. Will you receive my son into your home once a year for a month or so? You have much to teach him.”

Your mind is made up,
he thought, looking into those huge, limpid eyes,
and you have a will of iron. Your husband is no match for you. You have utterly ignored my argument regarding his unfortunate brother, and you expect me to do the same. Well, I see no harm in acceding to your first request. I am beginning to like the boy, and he will be good company for me.

“May I take him into the town with me as Thothhotep and I go about our business?” he wanted to know, his words an obvious capitulation.

Mutemwia smiled widely. “Certainly, providing you use your judgment as to what he may or may not see. It is good for a ruler to observe the lives of his subjects. So, this matter is settled?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall bid you a good night.” She began to move towards the door, then stopped and turned. “Your scribe. She has a diverse history. I presume that she has read every scroll I have sent you so far, and it is too late to ask you this, but do you trust her?”

Huy nodded. “Implicitly, Highness.”

“Good.” Then she was gone. Huy heard her address Wesersatet briefly, and by the time he himself reached the passage beyond, it was empty.

Making his way upstairs to his bedchamber, stepping over Tetiankh, who was deeply asleep, he walked to his couch and stood for a long time looking down on the vial of poppy his body servant had left on the table. He wanted it desperately, wanted the glow it spread through his body, the slight dislocation from reality it provided for his mind, the vivid colours with which it imbued his dreams, but in the end he left it where it was, pulling off his kilt and loincloth and crawling beneath his sheet as he allowed the words of the Book of Thoth to begin their unreeling behind his weariness.

It took him a long time to fall asleep. Quite apart from his body’s uncomfortable demand for the drug, the intense exchange between himself and the Princess needed dissection. Had he in fact been betrayed by those he knew and respected, or had they seen the Princess’s interest in him as an avenue for his advancement and had thus been eager to oblige her? The latter was far more likely. And what of her refusal to hear any argument for the exiled Prince’s reinstatement if Atum chose to alter the vision he, Huy, had seen, and to heal Ma’at’s wounds through the correct elevation of the elder son?
Am I to keep that possibility before Mutemwia’s eyes, feed it into her ears, so that she sees it as at least an equal possibility to the crowning of her son?
That prospect made his belly suddenly shrink and returned him to full consciousness. Resignedly, he sat up, reached for the vial, and took the opium in one gulp.
Atum, help me to resist the desire to have my dosage increased,
he prayed as he lay down again.
No matter what events occur in the unfolding of my own future, save me from succumbing totally to this blessed seduction
.

He fell asleep at once.

15

P
haraoh Amunhotep the Second’s funeral took place in the middle of the month of Khoiak, when the river had reached its highest flood level and there was a lull between the Feast of Hathor and the Feast of Sacrifice. Princess Mutemwia, little Amunhotep, and their entourage had remained with Huy for a further six days. During that time the Prince had gradually wriggled out from under the constraints of blood and protocol, and spent his time running half naked about the house and garden, eating whenever he wanted to, and fishing every sunset. Sometimes he left the watersteps with Wesersatet and his nurse, but more often he began to prefer the company of Huy and Anhur. Something about Anhur’s terse comments and the comforting solidity of his body drew the boy to him physically, as though, in demanding to sit on Anhur’s knee or having Anhur’s arms circle him as the captain of the guard showed him a better way to hold his rod, he was finding a security he had lacked. Huy recognized the need under Amunhotep’s cheerful prattle. It touched him, and a genuine fondness for the Prince grew in him. Mutemwia seemed content to allow her son the freedoms that life in the palace precluded.
As long as he is guarded, she obviously sees no reason to interfere with his happiness, and besides,
Huy often thought,
she wants him to look forward to being here every year. He must come to regard my household as one of his own.
The memories of his days in Nakht’s house flowed through his mind. He had been older than Amunhotep was now when his association with Thothmes’ family began, but the way in which he had been slowly integrated into their daily lives was the same.

It was true that neither mother nor son was able to retire until almost everyone else had taken to their couches, cots, or mattresses. Huy wondered if it was because the palace was a busy, noisy place and these two needed peace and silence or if there was a certain safety in knowing that those who continually surrounded them were unconscious. Wandering about his domain after darkness had fallen, Huy often encountered the Princess, always scrubbed and in her sleeping robe, walking alone under the palm trees beside the small canal that fed his garden or sitting with her back against a sycamore trunk, barely visible but for the grey blur of her voluminous linen. At first he imagined her driven by unrest, but she would call to him and he would approach to be welcomed with a smile and an invitation to keep her company. They spoke of many things during those night hours. Mutemwia questioned him closely about his childhood and his schooldays at Iunu, and particularly about the terrible day when Sennefer had aimed a throwing stick at him and changed his life forever. Huy remained aware of the gulf of blood and station between them in spite of her informality with him, and was careful never to overstep that invisible channel. Huy could tell that she was weighing his words, judging his suitability as a future adviser for her son, yet the knowledge ceased to make him tense. She was delightful to be with, a woman of intelligence and spirit, and they were becoming as friendly as it was possible for a commoner and a royal Princess to be.

Sometimes Huy entered his room to find young Amunhotep already there, perched on his couch and talking to Tetiankh as the servant trimmed the lamp or laid out his master’s clothing for the morning. The child never looked tired. Healthily brown and clear-eyed, he would greet Huy with a grin and often a hug, and once Huy was under his sheet, would lie beside him and demand a story. Huy groped among the history lessons he had endured and found tales of the mighty deeds of kingly ancestors, but he was seldom able to finish them without interruption. Amunhotep was full of questions. Why were the vile Setiu allowed to rule Egypt? When they had been driven out, why did King Ahmose stay in Weset, far from the proper palace at Mennofer? Why were the men of Kush always rebelling? And where, he asked once with relish, did Huy think the penis of Osiris might be? Isis had found all the pieces of him that Set had scattered except that. It could be buried anywhere. Even perhaps deep under the soil in Huy’s garden? Why didn’t Isis spend more time looking for it after she had found the rest of the god’s body? Didn’t he need it anymore?

Huy was less secure talking about the gods than he was in describing the Osiris-King Thothmes the First’s many battles. Osiris-King Thothmes the Third had spent seventeen years campaigning in the east and had secured many vassal states for Egypt. The boy was happiest hearing about the exploits of this great-grandfather after whom his own father was named. Then the questions became statements: “My father could do that if he wanted to.” “My father has a bigger army than that.” “My father is much richer than that.” With a pity that was fast becoming a genuine affection, Huy realized that Amunhotep rarely saw his father, perhaps had never even spoken to him. He was, after all, only the son of a Second Wife. She would soon be a Queen but would not be entitled to wear a Queen’s crown. That honour belonged to Neferatiri, Thothmes’ Chief Wife. Huy was usually relieved when Heqarneheh arrived to carry the drowsy little body to his cot in his mother’s room and he himself could relax.
Children are absorbing and amusing, but tiring also,
Huy often decided before he slept,
and this royal child is no exception.

As always during the Inundation, Huy was called to the town to deal with the customary rash of fevers, and on the nights when he returned home aching and exhausted, Mutemwia forbade Amunhotep to bother him. Amunhotep had begged to be allowed to go into Hut-herib with Huy and Thothhotep, but his mother had refused. “You are still too young,” she had said. “Later, when you are seven or eight, you may ask the Seer very politely if you may accompany him.” Amunhotep had stared at her, obviously deciding whether to sulk, whine, or acquiesce grudgingly. Acquiescence had won out, and Huy was free to swallow his poppy and lie in the blessed dimness of his bedchamber alone.

Then it was the middle of Athyr, and like a flock of graceful birds the members of the Princess’s staff lifted their heads, fluffed their bright feathers, and rose from the house to settle noisily on the barges. Mutemwia stood at the foot of the ramp with Amunhotep, who was almost unrecognizable in his silver bordered kilt, gilded leather sandals, and kohled eyes. A small protecting Eye of Horus in gold and black onyx hung from a slender chain around his neck, and a tiny golden ankh earring glinted in the sunlight as he looked up at Huy. “I am to come back to your estate next year if the gods will it,” he said. “Actually, I hope they want me to come sooner. I have enjoyed living like a commoner, and the fish here are very tasty.” He tugged at Huy’s hand until Huy bent low. “You are my new uncle,” he whispered. “I like you very much. If you and Anhur will move to Mennofer, I will order new apartments built for you in the palace gardens. Will you come?”

Huy glanced up at Mutemwia. She nodded. “There are many poor people who need me here, Highness,” he said, “and you must grow and study hard and obey those who have authority over you. But the time will come when you will send for me, and then I will see you in Mennofer.”