“I know it’s been the custom for hentis to let them in,” Huy said. “How many drive their herds into the Delta along the Horus Road?”
Ptahmose shrugged. “You must ask your nephew. My only concern is whether or not my governors are handling the situation.”
Huy was about to remind the Vizier that during a dark time in Egypt’s history those same tribesmen had managed to take control of the country without a drop of blood being shed and had ruled for more than two hundred years, but he closed his mouth again. Better to see for myself, to talk to the garrison commanders. The Queen will expect the information I glean to be in my report. Reluctantly he turned from the pleasant scenery slipping slowly by to May’s scribe, waiting patiently by his elbow. Huy’s lessons in Akkadian, the language of diplomacy, were progressing well. The meaning of the stark, thin symbols was much easier to learn than the tangle of hieroglyphs he had struggled with in school.
Once the Delta sepats were behind them, the barges were left in the care of Ptahmose’s captain and the litters were readied. The way led northeast along the Horus Road that began in the Khent-abt district and ran through the marshy Sea of Reeds, well-nigh impassable during the Inundation, towards the coast. It then curved east to disappear into Rethennu and the foreign terrain beyond. The garrisons set every few miles along it began at once. Huy expected to see a military presence between them, but there was none. The Road was choked with the flow of animals and their keepers leaving Egypt to return home before the Inundation drowned the rich fields they had enjoyed, and the Vizier’s entourage moved slowly in spite of the guards who walked ahead, calling a warning. Huy did not mind. There was time for a leisurely look at a swiftly changing topography, and the bearded herdsmen in their garish colours fascinated him. At each garrison, after the obeisances and a hospitable meal, he listened to the report given to Amunhotep-Huy. Paneb quietly noted it down. Huy had questions of his own regarding the policing of the Road. How were the foreigners controlled? Were daily records kept of their numbers coming and going? How often were the soldiers manning the garrisons rotated? The answers to the last question began to bother him. Many of the men were mercenaries, returning regularly to their native territories. These were places that paid tribute to Egypt or, more rarely, were governed directly by one of Pharaoh’s resident ministers.
“Every garrison is commanded by an Egyptian officer,” Amunhotep-Huy had responded testily to Huy’s query. “The men under them are entitled to a piece of Egyptian soil when they’re too old to fight. What better incentive is there to keep them loyal to us?”
Huy thought his attitude naive but consistent with his character. Harsh discipline and the promise of reward would be sufficient to maintain order in the garrisons. A more subtle lure leading to treason or revolt would not occur to him. Is our army full of mercenaries also? Huy wondered. And what of the navy? Ptahmose had struck out east before any inspection of the coastal forts had been made. He considered the state of Egypt’s eastern dependencies more important, probably quite rightly. Huy decided to travel the northernmost shore roads of the Delta by himself if necessary.
Ptahmose held meetings in Rethennu not only with the Governor and his assistant stationed there but also with the chieftains of the tribes whose members were permitted temporary entrance into the Delta. Collectively the Vizier called them the Habiri, but Huy heard how politely he gave each his title. He knew all their names and the names of their elder sons, those who would inherit both the control of the tribes and the yoke of Egyptian domination. Without exception they grumbled at the amount of cedar wood Egypt demanded, and to a lesser extent at the number of cattle included in the annual tax. Ptahmose dealt with them tactfully but firmly. There were no forts within Rethennu’s borders, but the Governor maintained a large contingent of Egyptian infantry. Huy approved. “What lies beyond this land?” he asked the Vizier as the three of them, Ptahmose, Amunhotep-Huy, and himself, walked towards the tents that had been set up for them.
“Zahi and Shinar,” he was told, “Apra, Amurru, and a few small collections of unimportant clans between the Amurru and the kingdom of Mitanni. We deal with the Amurru diplomatically. Her Majesty periodically sends soldiers to both the Amurru and the city state of Byblos to help discourage any plans of southward expansion that Mitanni might concoct. They provide a buffer between Mitanni and Rethennu. Are you confused yet, Great Seer?”
No, Huy was not confused. A rapidly growing map of Egypt’s strengths and weaknesses was being etched in his mind. It seemed to him that although Ptahmose was an excellent Vizier, his interest did not extend into conjecture beyond the limits of his responsibility.
Huy did not like Rethennu. Its mountains were clothed in the precious woods Egypt needed, but it was on the whole a bare, unlovely place, the ground sharp underfoot with gravel, the growth of fodder sparse on the foothills. He understood why so many slaves, non-citizens, chose to drive their livestock into the verdant little hayfields of Ta-Mehu. He was relieved when Ptahmose gave the order to retrace their journey along the Horus Road.
At the city of Per-Bastet, sited on the main eastern tributary of the Delta and home to the cat goddess Bast, they amicably parted company. It was necessary for Amunhotep-Huy to inspect the forts and army training centres as far as Swenet, far to the south, and the Vizier had to continue his own assessment of the middle and southern governorships. “I usually make my headquarters at Pe when I evaluate the annual state of the navy,” Amunhotep-Huy told Huy, “and I do it well before the Inundation. This year you’ll have to take my place. The noble Nebenkempt is our Naval Troop Commander. A good man and an able sailor. He captains the royal barge Kha-em-Ma’at when it’s needed. You also need to speak with Standard Bearer Hatmesha. He commands two hundred and fifty marines, but there’s no one who knows more about the history of the navy and its current state. Good luck, Uncle.”
His manner had been offhand and he would not meet Huy’s eye. Paneb was rapidly taking down the information in his neat hieratic script. Huy had wanted to ask his nephew to carry his greetings to the noble Amunnefer, his partner in the cultivation and harvest of the opium crops, and to visit Thothhotep and Anhur at their home in Nekheb, but thought better of it. He bade both men farewell, climbed aboard his barge with an inward sigh of relief, and began to read over the information Paneb had accumulated. May’s scribe had accompanied him in order to continue his lessons, but Huy hardly needed him anymore. Akkadian was a very logical language.
7
HUY RETURNED TO A PALACE agog with the news that on the first day of the month of Thoth the King had signed a marriage contract with the daughter of his most senior nobleman. Tiye and her mother Thuyu had been moved to the harem. With a shock Huy realized that he had been away from Mennofer for almost two months. Every harvest was in. The land lay parched and bare, waiting for the benison of the Inundation. Mutemwia had chosen a most auspicious day for such a momentous occasion, Huy reflected. The first of Thoth was New Year’s Day. It was also the day when worship for the god Thoth began with universal rejoicing, and continued more quietly until the next month, Paophi, began. In spite of her objections to the match, she has obviously trusted my vision, Huy’s thoughts ran on as he sat in his reception room with the chaos of unpacking going on around him. She put the matter before Yuya without waiting for my return. This is good.
Under Steward Paroi was hovering close by. Amunmose was trying to bring order to the laden servants milling about. Huy had given Paneb, as a scribe, permission to take his annual gift to Thoth’s shrine, and so it was Paroi who patiently clutched a sheaf of scrolls. Huy wanted to be bathed, but Tetiankh was busy putting Huy’s clothing and jewellery away. Resignedly Huy beckoned Paroi close. “It’s good to see your sober face again, Paroi. Please tell me that those letters are utterly unimportant.”
Paroi bowed and, taking the chair opposite Huy, tipped the scrolls onto the table between them. “I thank the gods that you have returned to us in good health, Master,” the man replied.
“We have no heart when you are away. Indeed, Amunmose has dealt with most of these scrolls.” He poked through them. “There is a report from the noble Amunnefer in Weset regarding your poppy investment. The quality of the opium is slowly improving and the harvest has been copious. He has hired another expert in the cultivation of the plant from Keftiu. This man advocates leaving the juice on the pods for a few more days to increase its potency, and the transplanting done so far is not rigorous enough. The noble Amunnefer has petitioned the King for additional land to enlarge the venture. He asks for more gold in the event that he is allowed to do so.”
“I can read all that for myself. What else? Is there any news from my caravan?”
“Not yet. The myrrh must come from a long way away, Master. The Prince of Ipu has sent you a formal expression of gratitude for advancing his daughter’s prospects. There is no need for an acknowledgement.” It took Huy a moment to remember that Tiye’s father Yuya held the honorary and hereditary title of Prince, and his fiefdom was far to the south in the Akhmin sepat. “The Lady Tiye herself has asked for an audience with you at your earliest convenience.”
“Has she indeed? Put that scroll aside and when Paneb comes back from his devotions I’ll deal with it. Anything more? If not, tell Tetiankh I need a wash and my drug.”
“There is this. I offer my condolences, Master. I did not know this man, but Amunmose did. He is grieving.” Paroi rose and bowed again. “I will send Tetiankh to you.”
A shadow seemed to pass through the room. Huy glanced up sharply, but nothing had changed. Anhur, he thought as he fingered the papyrus Paroi had handed him. Anhur my friend, my protector. I had hoped to put my arms around you yet again, but you have gone to be with Osiris, and left me. Unrolling the scroll, he recognized Thothhotep’s confident hand. His own hands were cold. The noise in the room ceased, all but for his former scribe’s voice, as he read. “My dear Master,” she had written.
I am sorry to give you this sad news. Anhur is dead. He was taken to the House of the Dead for Beautification here in Nekheb yesterday. I was unable to write until today. I mourn him and miss him as I know you will, but at the end he was gasping for every breath and my only consolation is that he has passed through the Judgment Hall with his full health restored. I beg you to send me a letter. Thothhotep, by my own hand, this thirtieth day of Epophi, Year One of the King.
Huy let the scroll roll up and closed his eyes. Gradually he became aware of the cheerful din around him, but under it he was an anxious child again, standing at the massive entrance to Thoth’s temple in Khmun with Anhur’s comforting presence beside him. He could smell the leather of Anhur’s jerkin, and if he turned his head he knew he would see that weatherbeaten face with its bright brown eyes looking down at him. Anhur never minced his words, Huy remembered, a lump in his throat. He spoke his mind, a soldier’s mind, practical and yet with a wisdom on which I came to rely. The King loved him too. Anhur taught him to fish and wrestle, and let him ride about the garden of my estate on his shoulders. He will be as sad as I. Sensing someone close by, he opened his eyes. Amunmose was bending over him.
“I want him back the way he was, Huy,” the steward said. “I want to be home in your house and hearing his footsteps walking the hallway in the middle of the night. I want to sit with him and drink beer on hot afternoons. I want to see him watching over you in that unobtrusive way he had when we ventured out. Will you at least invite his wife back into your employ? Can we have Thothhotep here after we’ve mourned for Anhur?”
Huy came to his feet. Amunmose was doing his best to control his expression, and at the sight of his struggle Huy felt his own tears begin. He threw his arms around Amunmose, holding him tightly, and with a sob Amunmose responded. Gradually the clamour in the room died away. Huy’s servants stood nonplussed, watching their master and the man who gave them their orders every morning weep on each other’s shoulders.
By the time Paneb returned from Thoth’s shrine, Huy had been bathed and had drunk his poppy. The scribe glanced swiftly at Huy’s swollen eyes before politely lowering his gaze and folding onto his mat at Huy’s feet. Huy waited while Paneb prepared his palette for the dictation. I was leaving the Delta for Rethennu on the day Anhur died. The twenty-ninth of Epophi, and the harvest in full swing. Osiris’s harvest also, although I did not know it. Today is the fourth of Thoth. The astrologers wait to see the rising of the Sopdet star, and with it the first eddies of the coming Inundation. Thothhotep has been observing the customs of mourning for thirty-five days. She will see Anhur entombed in another thirty-five. If I set off at once, do I have enough time to reach Nekheb by then? How far from Mennofer? Four hundred, five hundred miles? My sailors would be pulling against the current of the Inundation, but I must try.
He began to dictate a reply to Thothhotep, not trusting himself to put brush to paper. His hands were still cold and shaking. Pouring out his love for Anhur, he told her that he was sending gold for the sem priests who were even now attending to Anhur’s preservation, and begged her to return to his employ. “Seal it and give it to Ba-en-Ra with instructions to leave for Nekheb immediately,” he said as Paneb passed the papyrus up to him to sign. “Go to Amunmose and ask him for a pouch of gold to include with it. If no request for my presence comes from the Regent this evening, send a formal appeal for an audience with her on my behalf. I can’t deal with anything else today, Paneb. I’m going to my couch. Tell Captain Perti to keep everyone away from me.”
Walking into his bedchamber, he closed the door and opened his little shrine to Khenti-kheti, the totem of Hut-herib. In spite of the debt he owed to the creator-god Atum, who had raised him from death when he was twelve, he seldom prayed to him. With returning life had come the gift of Seeing and the curse of a eunuch’s existence, an inability to engage in the act of sex. As a young man Huy had tried to rid himself of this blight, to no avail; Atum’s proscription had remained firm. So had Huy’s grudge against the god, an emotion that had moderated considerably over the years but had not entirely dissipated. The sight of Khenti-kheti’s long crocodile snout emerging from the shrine always reminded Huy of his childhood, of long, carefree days as the spoilt only child of adoring parents, of playing with Ishat in the orchard amongst the sweet aroma of spring blossoms, of Khenti-kheti’s priest Methen, who had found him naked and terrified outside Hut-herib’s House of the Dead and had carried him to his father’s house.
Huy put a sliver of charcoal in the cup of the long incense holder and lit it. While waiting for it to turn to hot ash, he allowed his memory to wander back to the time when Anhur had come to the estate with his ten soldiers, and the friendship between the apprehensive boy and the battle-hardened man, begun years before, became firm. Huy sprinkled a few grains of frankincense onto the ash and at once the room began to fill with a haze of fragrant yet unsweetened smoke. Reverently he censed Khenti-kheti’s likeness, laid down the holder, and, prostrating himself, prayed for Anhur’s ka, his khu-spirit, and his heart. Knowing that a man only came into being when his name was pronounced for the first time, and if his name was not carved or written so that the gods could find and recognize him, he then ceased to exist, Huy repeated Anhur’s name many times to his totem.
When he had finished his prayers, he closed the shrine and lay on his couch with his hands behind his head. He was tired but did not want to sleep. The memories of his life with Anhur filled him, vivid and satisfying, slowly blunting his grief and bringing him a morsel of peace. He was still awake when Tetiankh knocked on the door and entered with a tray of fresh fruits and goat cheese, which he set beside Huy’s hip. “The Regent has summoned you, Master,” he said. “There is time for you to eat and for me to braid your hair and apply your face paint. Their Majesties will be dining with the ambassador from Mitanni for some hours yet. It is a meal they share with him regularly.” Huy sat up and, finding himself hungry, began to eat.
He and Paneb were admitted to the King’s quarters several hours after sunset. The corridors were c
hoked with revellers and their servants coming and going, their jewels glinting in the torchlight, their carefully kohled eyes flicking to Huy and away again before they accorded him a bow that released clouds of perfume from their filmy linens and starched white kilts. Huy acknowledged their reverences while Perti called his advance and the stream of humanity parted. “They are celebrating a small rise in the level of the river,” Paneb explained in answer to Huy’s query. “Isis has begun to cry, and the priests have proclaimed the rising of the Sopdet star at last.”
So Ma’at is content with her realm, Huy said to himself as Perti slowed before the King’s huge double doors. The equilibrium between cosmic and earthly principles is being maintained.
Nubti ushered the two men inside with a smile and a swift obeisance, his misshapen left shoulder blade no more than a hint of distortion until he turned to precede Huy into the long, lamplit room. The King was sitting sprawled in a chair, one braceleted arm slunk over its back and his legs crossed. Beneath the paint on his face Huy thought he looked tired. He has a great deal to contend with and he’s only just turned thirteen, Huy told himself as he walked forward and knelt to prostrate himself. Mutemwia, looking as ethereal as a cloud in floating white linen, rose from her own chair. Tiny silver vultures hung from the circlet around her brow and from her earlobes. A wide plate of silver studded with deep blue lapis flowers covered her breasts, and pellets of lapis dotted her sandals. A large ankh hung from the centre of her thin, silver-linked belt.
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