The King's Man

by Pauline Gedge

  The time of the afternoon sleep was almost over, but Huy retreated to his bedchamber, sent Tetiankh for the drug, and lay on his couch staring up at the busy ceiling with its dozens of stars surrounding Nut’s arching, elongated body. The faint scent of jasmine added to the depression that seized him. In spite of the thousands of people inhabiting the palace, he was alone. He needed to discuss his invitation to the young Perti with Anhur and Thothhotep. If he had been at home he would have aired the prospect with them, put his thoughts in order by expressing them aloud, listened to their opinions. Now there was no one. Impatiently he pushed the self-pity aside, together with a sudden inner picture of his green and quiet garden lying deserted under a bright noon sun. This is my home now, he told himself sternly. Why do I bleat after Hut-herib like a hungry calf? I have known for years that my destiny lies with the Horus Throne, but now its fulfillment is beginning I can only look back over my shoulder. I hate this place, he knew suddenly. I hate its noise, its crowded corridors, its servants painted like aristocrats, and its nobles with their backs bent like servants. I will soon be familiar with its design and may perhaps find empty corners where I can enjoy a temporary peace, but I do not believe that my distaste for this god’s house will change.

  When Tetiankh returned, Huy drank his poppy, retrieved his palette from one of his chests, and tried to compose a letter to Anhur and Thothhotep, but his words were both stilted and hesitant. He could not speak to them as though they were present, both because he knew that his letters would be opened and resealed before being carried south and because he could imagine their concern for him if he wrote the truth. I must have a scribe and a herald who will have no conscience about circumventing Mutemwia’s spies, he thought gloomily as he replaced the palette in the chest and sat on the edge of his couch. Where may I find such servants? It’s not that I have anything to hide from the King and the Regent. My loyalty to them is without blemish. But I must not express a dissatisfaction that would worry them or cause them to see my mild unhappiness as the prelude to a more serious discontent.

  The drug had not made him sleepy. The dose he had requested was large, but no more than the amount to which he had become inured. It had gradually begun to rob him of a healthy appetite for food, this he knew, and on the rare occasions when he was unable to get to his supply he would slowly begin to sweat and tremble as though he had a fever. He contemplated his addiction calmly, not only regarding the poppy as a gift from the gods for easing pain, as every Egyptian believed, but also convinced that for him it was a strange compensation for his inability to become drunk, a pastime every citizen enjoyed, or to gratify the sexual desires he had ruthlessly repressed a long time ago. For obscure reasons of his own, Atum had forbidden these pleasures to Huy, and in their place had set the poppy, a drug that aided the Seeings and enhanced Huy’s visions as well as easing the terrible headaches that assailed him after each encounter with the future.

  Now he reached to his table and, pouring water, drank absently, his mind on his problem. I could go into one of Mennofer’s many markets and hire another scribe as I did Thothhotep, but would I be fortunate enough to find someone not only highly literate but also unaffected by the power and riches abundant in the palace? Someone incorruptible? And am I myself powerful enough to demand absolute fealty from a herald who will refuse to allow anyone access to my letters and will carry them directly to the recipients? Shall I talk to Heby about all this? Ask his advice? He felt cold with defencelessness.

  Later, bathed and dressed in fresh linen, he made his way alone to the King’s quarters for the evening meal. For the first time he was not comfortable in Amunhotep’s presence. It seemed to him that the young Pharaoh was pouting over some event or word that had upset him during the day, and Mutemwia’s glances Huy’s way seemed fraught with hidden meaning.

  As the empty dishes were deftly removed and honeyed dates and the last of the wine were set out, Amunhotep sighed deeply and leaned towards Huy. “I have endured a day of annoyance and frustration, Uncle Huy. First of all, God’s Father Yey is ill. Again. And Yuya’s gone south to the Akhmin sepat to see to his duties as Overseer of Min’s Cattle at Ipu. He’ll be back tomorrow morning. Therefore I spent an afternoon trying to improve my chariot skills under the fumbling and inept instruction of Yuya’s assistant.” He grabbed up his goblet, drained its contents, and held it out to be refilled. “This morning I acquainted Nakht-sobek with my plans for a few building projects. He behaved as though he has no idea how full my Treasury is, although he’s supposed to be its Overseer. He dared to tell me that to begin construction now was precipitate and I should wait until this year’s taxes come in. If I’d had Kha with me, I’d have been able to argue with him.” He stuck one ringed finger in his wine and twirled it impatiently. “Well, am I sole ruler here or am I not?” He withdrew his finger and licked it, giving his mother a sidelong look.

  “Not until your majority,” Mutemwia retorted crisply, “and Egypt deserves better than a sulky child guiding her. This is ridiculous, Amunhotep! What do you have advisers for if you fume at their advice?” She turned to Huy. “You have met Treasurer Nakht-sobek. Yey has been God’s Father, a valued adviser to the Horus Throne on both secular and religious matters, for many years. He has been Master of the King’s Horse and Chief Instructor of the King in the Martial Arts to both Amunhotep’s father and his grandfather. Unfortunately, he’s old and prone to the usual infirmities of approaching Beautification. Yuya is his son and will inherit his responsibilities when he dies, as well as his position as Chief of the Rekhit. You were not at Amunhotep’s coronation, so perhaps you are unaware that as such, Yey is accorded the privilege of being the first noble to pay homage to the new King.” She swung back to her son. “Instead of resenting Yey’s infirmity, you should be visiting him with gifts and words of appreciation. As for your building plans, put them away for a while. To do so will reassure your Treasurer that he is heard.”

  “Why should I have to reassure anyone about anything?” Amunhotep muttered, but in telling Huy of his day, his gloom had gradually dispersed. He smiled, his whole face lifting. “Uncle Huy, if I give my plans to you, will you consult Chief Architect Kha regarding their cost and validity? I won’t pursue my Treasurer this year, but I intend to have my monuments begun when the flood recedes next Tybi! And will you come with me to Yey’s house? I want you to ask Atum to heal him.”

  “You should meet him in any case, Huy,” Mutemwia put in. “But Yey is very old, Amunhotep. No god is able to prevent us from aging and dying, not even Atum.” She gave Huy a wry smile. “Although when I look at you, Seer, I wonder.”

  For a while there was silence. A servant entered, bowed, and lit the brazier standing in the corner, for the spring night had become chilly. Huy’s gaze was immediately drawn to the swiftly growing flames beginning to heat the charcoal. Shadows gyrated on the walls close by. The air began to warm, and with its softening, Mutemwia’s perfume drifted into Huy’s nostrils. Lotus, henna, narcissus, he thought idly. I must tell Tetiankh to sprinkle something calming around my bedchamber, essence of lilies in ben oil perhaps, to mask the scent of that accursed jasmine. His glance strayed to Mutemwia. She had removed one heavy golden earring cast in the likeness of the goddess Nephthys and had laid it on the table in front of her. She was staring into the dimness, obviously lost in thought, absently stroking the piece of jewellery with one slow hand. The other rested against her cheek. Suddenly Huy wanted to leave his chair, cover the small distance between them, take both her tiny hands in his, and press them to his forehead. In a rush of sensory images he felt their warmth and the coolness of her many rings against his flesh, inhaled the increased intensity of her perfume as her arms rose, looked down at the outline of her slim thighs under the pleats of her diaphanous linen sheath. The impressions were so strong that he must have inadvertently made a sound, for she laid both palms flat on the table and faced him. Amunhotep appeared mesmerized by the fire as Huy himself had been, his face tinged a dull orange,
his black eyes glittering in the leap and fall of the blaze.

  “I hear that you have already chosen a captain for your household guards,” she said. “Your nephew may be a harsh man, but he is an excellent Scribe of Recruits and has chosen well for you. Wesersatet will be disappointed. Perti shows much promise as an officer. Don’t be deceived by his youth—he is fully capable of protecting you.”

  Huy gathered his scattered thoughts with an effort. She has used red antimony for her lips instead of henna, the voice in his head said clearly. It makes her little teeth look very white. Everything about her is little, and delicate, and graceful, except for the eyes that dominate her perfect face. I want to pick her up and hold her close to me, feel her hair against my naked skin. She would be as light as an armful of feathers.

  “I have given him until tomorrow night to make his decision,” Huy replied, pushing the image away. “Then of course I must seek a glimpse into his future.” He turned to Amunhotep with relief. “If Your Majesty will give me a list of the building projects you wish to begin, I’ll consult with your Treasurer and Chief Architect.”

  Amunhotep’s grin lit up his face. “Threaten them with a disastrous spell if they won’t give me what I want!” he joked. “Go to them in the morning, Uncle. Kha already has my list. In the afternoon we’ll visit Yey.”

  “He doesn’t live in the palace?” Something in Huy’s voice must have given him away. Mutemwia’s glance at him was keen.

  “He and his family have a house by the river in the northern suburbs,” she answered. “Are you homesick, Huy?”

  You are the one who can cast a spell, not me, Huy thought in the moment before he answered her. I must force myself to maintain a distance between us so that I do not lose the ability to do the work you and your son require. That small detachment has been present ever since you first brought Amunhotep to my house, even though we became friends and allies. What is happening to me now? And why?

  “I miss the peace of my estate and my servants miss its convenience,” he replied with complete honesty. “But Majesty, we will adapt.”

  “So you will.” She studied him, her head on one side. “For some time to come His Majesty and I will need you close by. Be patient. Many changes are in our thoughts.” She rose. It was a dismissal. Standing and bowing, Huy left them.

  The corridors were quiet, and empty of all save the motionless palace guards. Quickly Huy approached his own apartment, but before he reached it he could see the two young men sitting huddled uncomfortably on the tiled floor to one side of the double doors and one of his soldiers watchfully blocking the entrance. Seeing him come, the pair scrambled up and reverenced him several times before he came to a halt.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded irritably. “Whatever it is, my chief steward Amunmose deals with domestic matters, and not this late at night. Come back tomorrow.”

  One of them stepped forward. “Our apologies, Great Seer. Your chief steward quite rightly would not let us through your doors, but it’s difficult to encounter you. You are so busy on His Majesty’s business. We have both left scrolls of reference with Amunmose. He told us that we could wait for you here. I am Paneb, underscribe to Vizier Ptahmose.”

  “And I am Ba-en-Ra,” the other put in. “Chief Herald Maani-nekhtef sent me to you. I had not met Paneb before this evening. We have been getting to know each other.”

  They waited, eyes on Huy. In the new silence, he studied them. Neither was as young as the dim light of the passage had led him to believe. He judged them to be in their twenties. Paneb, the shorter and stouter of the two, had an air of steadiness about him. The gaze that met Huy’s own was calm and direct. Ba-en-Ra seemed entirely relaxed and confident, hands loose by his sides, his shoulders back. Huy noted that both of them had the remains of orange henna on their palms, and although the hour was late the linen of their expensive kilts was unstained. Both wore amulets. A red carnelian sweret bead rested on Paneb’s naked chest. Huy could just make out Thoth’s hieroglyph etched into the elongated curve of the object. Paneb’s name would be incised on it also. It was a logical protection for a scribe. Ba-en-Ra’s sinewy wrist was encircled by a series of golden hares chasing each other. The hare was a desert animal and as such was a symbol of regeneration, but everyone knew that it also slept vigilantly with its eyes open and was venerated for its speed. In spite of his weariness, Huy began to smile.

  “Now, why should I hire either of you?” he said. “Give me good reasons before I look at your references.” They exchanged glances.

  “To our great astonishment we discovered as we talked that we had each dreamed the same thing on different nights last week,” Ba-en-Ra began. “We were sitting in the reed marshes of the south, eating crocodile flesh. The meaning of such a dream is clear: we are destined to become important officials.”

  “This was before our masters commanded us to seek your employment, Great Seer,” Paneb said quietly. “If you doubt us, then take our hands. The gods will show you the truth of Ba-en-Ra’s words.”

  “Serving me will not always be easy,” Huy told them. “I require complete loyalty in my staff, even if a disagreement between myself and the King should arise. Are you here simply because the Vizier and the Chief Herald ordered it?”

  “Yes,” Paneb answered at once, passing the small test Huy had set. “But the opportunity to join your household exceeds my wildest hopes and I believe I speak for this herald also.” He waved at Ba-en-Ra, who nodded briefly.

  “Have you wives? Children?”

  Paneb shook his head.

  “I have recently signed a contract with my brother’s wife,” Ba-en-Ra said. “My brother died of a snakebite, and it is my duty to care for his family. They understand that a herald’s work often keeps him away from home for long periods. I have a reliable steward in charge of their welfare.” Huy found himself warming to this man, who understood and acted upon his responsibilities so selflessly.

  “You are both nobles,” he commented. “I am not, nor ever will be.”

  Paneb shrugged eloquently. “Nobility does not guarantee a life lived in the favour of Ma’at,” he retorted. “Noble or commoner, it does not matter as long as there is honesty and right-thinking.”

  “A splendid sentiment,” Huy said drily. “Very well. Present yourselves here tomorrow evening for a Seeing. Now go.” At once they bowed and left him, walking together down the shadowed passage. Huy watched them disappear before turning to the door his soldier now held open. I need both scribe and personal herald, he thought as Amunmose greeted him and the door thudded closed behind him. It seems that I must trust Ptahmose and Maani-nekhtef, two men I do not yet know, or struggle on without scribe or herald until I can make knowledgeable choices. “I should read the scrolls before I sleep,” he said in answer to his steward’s question. “I won’t have time in the morning. What’s the matter with you, Amunmose?” He took the papyrus held out to him, his eyes on the other’s haggard face.

  “I’m sorry, Huy. I’m exhausted,” Amunmose admitted. “I have control of a household in near chaos because my supervision doesn’t extend to the palace kitchens or the laundry or anything else involving the general running of this anthill. The soldiers come to me for their instructions. I need an under steward I can delegate to, more servants, a food taster … I need your authority to sort it all out before I collapse. And what about a permanent physician for us all? I don’t trust any judgment but your own.”

  “Have you read these references?”

  “No. And that’s another thing. Petitioners line up outside the doors, wanting to see you. Scrolls pile up from the gods know who and I’ve no permission to open them. We’ve been here no more than a few days and already it seems like hentis.”

  “I’m the one who must apologize, Amunmose.” Weariness and a claustrophobic panic had seized Huy. “Early tomorrow afternoon I must visit a friend of the King’s, but afterwards we’ll try to establish some order out of all this confusion. Go to bed.”


  In Huy’s own bedchamber, Tetiankh had turned down his sheets and was trimming the lamps. Huy flung himself into a chair. “Find me a lily perfume and anoint my couch and the walls with it,” he said as the body servant knelt to remove his sandals. “Do it every day until the jasmine has stopped flowering. We need a physician of our own, old friend. You already know your way about the palace. Recommend someone. And give me my poppy! My head is full of troubling images tonight.”

  He was undressed, washed, drugged, and on his couch by the time Tetiankh found a quantity of lily perfume and began to distribute it carefully about the room. Gratefully Huy inhaled the aroma that reminded him of his mother Itu and the little house where he had spent his childhood. Deliberately he called the sunlit garden to mind, and Ishat slipping through the acacia hedge to play with him, and his father Hapu plunging his tousled head into the deep clay basin outside the rear door at the end of a day spent working in his uncle’s perfume fields. Yet the heavy blanket of opium stupor he relied upon to wrap itself around his mind seemed unusually thin this night. Itu’s perfume filled his nostrils, but it was Anuket’s innocent young face that blossomed suddenly, filling his inner vision, waking the ancient passion for her that had destroyed his peace for so many years. Long before her death he had been cured of it, but here it was again in all its distressing impotence. Even as he sank beneath the soporific influence of his drug and unconsciousness waited to claim him, he somehow knew that an old love was not the cause of the mental picture being presented to him. Nor was it a grasping for the familiar in the bewildering ocean of new circumstances. It was something else, something simpler and yet more threatening, but his tired consciousness refused to examine it. That night he neither stirred nor dreamed.