Seer of Egypt (57 page)

Huy had long since built a small mud-brick house by the hedge dividing the garden from his uncle Ker’s orchard and settled a gardener and a house servant in it. His mother did only those chores she chose to perform, and spent most of her days gossiping with Hapzefa, who had become too lame to do much work, and reminiscing with her husband, Hapu. Huy’s father had eventually been forced to leave Ker’s perfume fields to the care of younger men. He could no longer stand upright, the knuckles of his hands were so swollen and painful that often he was unable to feed himself, and a weakness in his legs had relegated him to the chair Huy had provided for him. After a lifetime spent in lowering himself to the floor for food or prayer or to entertain, Hapu’s pride suffered. He would not thank Huy for increasingly taking care of his modest household, but he had expressed his gratitude, albeit grudgingly, to Heby, and Heby had told Huy. Huy’s pity went to Itu, who had been beautiful and kind and gentle, and whose sweet nature still shone through the ravages of aging.

“And you still send shivers of apprehension down my spine, Hapzefa!” he called back, releasing Itu and hurrying to plant a kiss on the servant’s lined cheek. “Mother, Hapzefa, I have brought the King’s son Prince Amunhotep to meet you. In deference to your age and out of respect for your undoubted wisdom, he does not require you to perform any obeisance.”

Taken aback, they stared at the boy walking towards them. Itu did bow. “Welcome to this house, Highness,” she said as he came to a halt and stared up into her face. “We are most honoured by your presence.”

“Yes, you are, and I am honoured to meet the mother of Egypt’s Great Seer,” he replied with aplomb. “I want to meet his father now.”

Hapu was rising from his chair in the reception room of the house as Huy and the Prince, followed by the women, crowded into the cramped space. Bent over, he appeared to be bowing, but Huy knew that he could stand in no other way. “I wish you great fortune on your Naming Day, my son,” he said to Huy. “Now, who is this handsome young man?” Huy realized that his father had heard nothing of the greetings outside. He introduced Amunhotep, and boy and man gazed appraisingly at one another for a moment before Amunhotep’s eyes slid to the one hand steadying Hapu on the arm of the chair.

“You may sit,” he offered, and Huy could have sworn that he was overcome with a brief shyness as Hapu eased himself down. “As the father of the Twice Born, you are surely beloved and protected by all the gods,” Amunhotep went on. “You must be very devout, to have been given the seed which created him. I shouldn’t be surprised if you are allowed to just walk through the Judgment Hall without having your heart weighed when the time comes for your Beautification.”

Hapu’s eyebrows shot up. A smile touched his lips. “Your Highness is most polite,” he replied, “but I must confess that my work in the fields left me little energy or time for much devotion apart from the evening prayers to Khenti-kheti, and even then they were sometimes forgotten.” His glance went to Huy. “The heka surrounding Huy has nothing to do with me or my lack of piety. It comes directly from Atum.”

“I’m not very devout myself,” Amunhotep said. “There are many things I’d rather do than pray. I rely on the heka surrounding the King my father to keep me safe and healthy, and he, of course, gets his magic from Amun.” He shrugged. “Lately there has been much worshipping of the Aten in the King my father’s harem and in the palace. That god has become fashionable since the King my father returned from the east victorious. I get bored when my tutors try to teach me about the gods. It’s all very confusing.” He and Hapu nodded gravely at one another. Amunhotep turned to a hovering Itu. “Mother of Uncle Huy, is there … He said that on his Naming Day there would be … Is it noon yet, do you think?”

Itu had been frowning. Now her brow cleared. “Highness, if you will sit, Hapzefa and I will bring Huy’s Naming Day feast. It must indeed be nearly noon.” She and Hapzefa backed out of the room.

Amunhotep sank onto a cushion facing Hapu across the faded beige of the old flaxen mat that had covered the dirt floor for as long as Huy could remember. Huy lowered himself beside him. There was an awkward silence until Amunhotep said, “You have laboured in the perfume fields all your life, Father of Huy. I am most interested in the production of perfume because the King my father’s Treasurer, Sobekhotep, has told me that its sale to foreign countries brings much wealth to Egypt. What sort of perfume do the foreigners like best?”

Huy, marvelling at the child’s civility, saw no reason to join the conversation that ensued. His father, after a hesitant reply, began to speak of the flowers he had tended with a knowledge and affection Huy had not suspected. He was still extolling the virtues of lotus essence over lily when his wife and Hapzefa brought in the meal and set it on the floor.

There were bowls of a spicy pork stew, a steaming lentil soup made fragrant with cumin and coriander, a salad of oiled chickpeas flecked by pieces of mild green onion and garlic, and pale yellow butter to spread on fresh bread. There was shedeh-wine, and dark barley beer for Hapu. Hapzefa brought out a plate of the honey cakes Huy had loved as a child. Everything was offered to Amunhotep first, and after a moment, when he looked about for the servant who would put the food into his clay dish, he happily applied his spoon himself. Huy watched him unobtrusively, anxious lest he might choke, but the Prince ate slowly and politely, emptied his mouth before speaking, and complimented the women on their cooking skill. Huy gave him a little watered shedeh to drink, the taste of last year’s pomegranates bittersweet on his own tongue.

At last the plates were scoured and talk faltered. Huy looked at the Prince and nodded. Amunhotep rose. “It’s time for the afternoon sleep,” he said. “I and Huy must go now. Thank you, father and mother of Huy, for your hospitality.” He smiled at them all as Itu and Hapzefa struggled to their feet and bowed, and Hapu inclined his head. Huy kissed them.

“Do you need anything, Father?” he asked Hapu, knowing that his father would deny any lack. Hapu shook his head. Huy felt Amunhotep’s hand creep into his own and together they went out into the fierce early afternoon sunlight, both blinking after the dimness of the house. Anhur and the guards fell in behind them. The litter-bearers emerged from the shade of the orchard where they had been dozing.
Ishat used to come creeping into the garden through that gap in the acacia hedge,
Huy thought as he waited for the Prince to settle himself among the cushions.
The air here is full of her, and I am here also, she and I perpetually young, perpetually linked to each other although we are now living out our several destinies apart. I am not comfortable here. The power of the past to unman me is too strong.

“Uncle Huy, what was that meat?” Amunhotep asked as the litter was lifted.

Huy closed the curtain beside himself and leaned over the boy to draw it across on the other side. “It was pork. Pig’s flesh, Highness,” Huy replied in surprise. “You haven’t eaten it before?”

“No, of course not. It’s the food of the poor, and servants. I didn’t like it much.” He yawned widely. “The shedeh was good, though. It’s made me sleepy.” He turned a troubled face to Huy. “Your parents are very old and infirm, Uncle Huy. Life must be hard for them now in that tiny, dark house, but it must have been even worse when you and your brother the Mayor of Mennofer were little. How could anyone exist in such a small place?”

“That house is large compared to the dwellings of most of Hut-herib’s citizens,” Huy answered carefully. “My family are peasants, but because my uncle Ker was fortunate enough to be granted land by your great-grandfather the Osiris-King Thothmes the Third, my father was given work that enabled him to build our house. Ker was a clever and adventurous young man who loved flowers and became apprenticed to a perfume maker here in the Delta. When the man died suddenly, Ker applied to the King for the fields that of course had gone khato, and the King deeded them to him in exchange for a share of the profits as well as the usual taxes. Ker hired my father. Most peasants do not live as well as my family does.”

Amunhotep was quiet for so long that Huy thought he had gone to sleep. It was hot and close in the confines of the litter. The rhythmic sway of the bearers was soporific. But at last the boy sighed and stirred. “You lived with your servant Ishat in the centre of Hut-herib, where there is noise and filth all the time, didn’t you? My mother the Queen told me so. Hut-herib is very smelly and ugly. I shall be glad to return to your estate. Do the peasants have enough to eat, Uncle Huy?”

“Yes, they do, Highness,” Huy assured him. “Egypt abounds in vegetables and crops of every kind, and as long as Isis cries, no one goes hungry. There are fish in the river, and pigeons and hares to eat. You need not worry.”

“I am not worried,” Amunhotep said loftily. “I would expect Amun to bless all of us who live under the rule of Ma’at, but some more than others, of course. Your scribe is very pretty, isn’t she? She loves Anhur. Does she sleep with him, do you know? My father the King sleeps with many women. When I am in my quarters in the harem, they fawn upon me and all they ever talk about among themselves is who will go to my father’s bed next and how to make themselves more attractive. The concubines, I mean. I get very tired of them.”

Huy was becoming used to the seemingly illogical leaps in the Prince’s conversations. He fought his thick-headedness and did his best to concentrate on what was being said. “So your mother allows you to mingle with the concubines, Highness?”

Amunhotep favoured Huy with his broadest grin. “Well, no, not really,” he confessed. “But they come to the door of my apartments with gifts for the guards, and they whisper and giggle and sometimes persuade the men to let them in. Sobekhotep appoints the guards because his title is Guardian of the Prince as a Child as well as being Overseer of the Treasury, but my mother the Queen threatened to have him dismissed if he did not discipline them. The women still try to get in. They think that I talk with my father the King every day, but I don’t.” The grin had disappeared. Huy did not miss the note of longing in the words.

“Have you no friends in the palace, Highness?” he inquired.

Amunhotep nodded and rolled his eyes. “I sometimes play with Minhotep and Ptahemhet and Paser. They’re the sons of my father’s officials who are closest to my own age, and we study together under Menkhoper and the other teachers. I like them well enough. I like my half-sister Petepihu better. She’s the daughter of Yaret, another of my father’s wives. She’s older than me. She’ll take me out into the palace gardens and tell me the names of all the birds. We play sennet together. But my mother the Queen doesn’t really like me living in my harem apartments, and sends me there only if people in the main palace are getting sick. Uncle Huy, may I give you your Naming Day present this evening? I’ve waited a very long time for you to see it.”

The gift was a heavy collar made up of six rows of alternating dark orange carnelian and blue faience glass tiles held together by thin strings of gold and separated at regular intervals by golden frogs and lizards. Huy, seated cross-legged before the remains of the evening meal, speechlessly lifted the piece from its linen bed on his lap and held it up, watching the lamplight glint on the exquisite workmanship of the figures.

The Prince leaned close. “I ordered the jeweller to put frogs on it for you because you like frogs, and lizards on it for me because I like lizards. Or mostly for me,” he corrected himself. “Lizards are sacred to the creator-god Atum. I asked Menkhoper, who knows almost everything. Frogs are for
wehem ankh
, ‘living again,’ and very appropriate for you. Are you pleased? Put it on!” He was clearly proud of himself, and wriggled behind Huy so that he could close the collar’s hasp while Huy held it against his chest. The sa amulet the Rekhet had made for him hung just a little lower on its chain.

“Highness, I am pleased and honoured and humbled,” Huy managed. “It’s a magnificent present, a treasure.”

“You don’t have to dine in it every night, but wear it sometimes while I’m here.” Amunhotep knelt up and enfolded Huy’s head in his arms. “I love you very much. Can we go fishing now?”

As the years passed, Huy and all the members of his household began to look forward to the months of the Inundation, when Prince Amunhotep would arrive with his retinue, settle into the guest room, and bring the estate to life. Huy, loving him, seeing the changes both physical and intellectual in him each year, missed him when he was gone. The letters from his mother continued to arrive, always giving Huy a vivid account of everything occurring at court, but Mutemwia herself no longer accompanied her son to the Seer’s house. Huy admired her wisdom. It was certain that the King knew of his child’s yearly stay near Hut-herib, and equally clear that he did not care, probably because Amunhotep was not his heir. Amunemhat, son of Chief Wife Neferatiri, held that honour, and as long as Second Wife Mutemwia was not living at Huy’s estate with her little boy, she was not plotting sedition. The King’s gold continued to arrive punctually at Huy’s watersteps, but no word ever came from the One himself.

It was a time of prosperity and satisfaction for Huy’s family also. In year five of the King, Huy’s nephew Ramose turned six and was enrolled at the temple school in Mennofer, and the following year his other nephew, Amunhotep-Huy, finished his education and was appointed as a scribe at court to Tjanuni, the King’s Overseer of Soldiers. Huy had no doubt that the boy would do well among the men he liked and did his best to emulate. He had wanted to enter the army itself, but Heby, his father, had protested against his desire so vehemently that Amunhotep-Huy had sulkily acquiesced to both Heby’s urging and that of his military tutor Officer Irem, and had accepted the position of army scribe instead. Heby’s own position as Mayor of Mennofer had given him a reputation to uphold. Only the sons of peasants volunteered to march with the infantry. The sons of nobles and highly placed administrators entered officer training, but even that route was denied to Amunhotep-Huy by his father and Irem, a man with his own ambitions, who was happy to be allied to the family of both the Mayor of Mennofer and Egypt’s famous Seer and who had no wish to see the country reminded of the family’s lowly origins by one of its members. Huy heard nothing from his older nephew, but Ramose began to send him letters as soon as he graduated from pieces of clay to papyrus. Huy enjoyed them. Ramose wrote increasingly ably of his life at school, his warm, unaffected words returning Huy to his own years with Thothmes at Iunu’s temple school in a past long gone.