Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  Huy felt the anxiety that had descended on him in the night suddenly return. “How strange,” he said slowly. “What name would the King have preferred? Did he say?”

  “I was stationed behind the Queen, on the dais. I heard Amunhotep mutter to her that Thothmes his father was a mighty warrior and a great god and his own son should bear that name. The Queen objected that it was an honour to bear the name of Egypt’s saviour god, the one who had helped Pharaoh’s ancestors drive out the occupying Setiu many hentis ago. At that, the King got up and left the hall.” He laughed. “I thank the gods I am not married. There is no woman to nag at me or contradict me.”

  “Would you rather be back among the delights of the palace, Anhur? Is serving my estate a demotion for you?”

  Anhur shot him a sly glance. “Everyone at court knows your power, Huy. Everyone believes you will rise in authority and influence. Everyone wants to come here to your house to meet you, to have their fortunes told, but the King allows no one but those he chooses to come near you. The spoiled little noblemen’s daughters natter together about your healthy body and your famously long hair.” He opened his arms in a wide gesture. “When you rise, so shall I. I want to be a general. As a commoner among the Shock Troops, my promotion would have been no higher than a captain of fifty. One day you will make me a general.”

  Huy was astounded, but he had not missed Anhur’s revelation regarding Amunhotep’s control. It explained why he himself was not deluged with petitioners from Mennofer. Something made him ask, “Anhur, what god does Pharaoh worship?”

  “Amun, of course, in spite of his annoyance with Weset,” Anhur replied promptly. “Still, he does have friends among the priests of Ra, particularly your old mentor High Priest Ramose at the temple of Ra in Iunu, and right after Amun’s High Priest had left Mennofer to return to Weset, Amunhotep took Kenamun and Miny and went to make an offering at the temple to the Aten in the centre of the city.”

  “Ra and the Aten, the gods of the sun,” Huy said. All at once he was very tired.

  “I don’t like Kenamun.” Anhur stood up and stretched. “Miny, the King’s weapons instructor, is a good man, but Kenamun sneers at everyone he considers to be below him. Amunhotep should choose his best friend more carefully. He has given Kenamun the stewardship of his Mennofer Estates. Now the idiot crows louder than ever, but the King doesn’t hear it. All he sees is his Foster Brother, son of his wet nurse Amenemopet. Ah, well … time for a swim and a sleep.” He placed a gentle hand on Huy’s head. “Forgive my earlier use of your name, Master. I am still seeing you as that boy for whom I developed a large affection.”

  “Call me whatever you like, Anhur.” Huy rose also. “You are expected to dine with Ishat and me every evening. Now I must lie down and get Tetiankh to put a cool, wet cloth over my eyes.”

  They parted, Anhur to the gate and Huy up to his room. The window hanging was down and the air a little cooler than the furnace outside. Huy put his head on his pillow with a vast relief. He did not open his eyes when Tetiankh entered. He heard the sudden rush of water as the servant wrung out the cloth, then felt it settle over his face. The action was repeated.

  Huy drowsed, but at the back of his mind was a picture of Amunhotep walking across the outer court of the temple to the Aten, the Visible Disc of the sun. Huy did not know why the image disturbed him. The worship of the Disc had gone on for many hentis. The Aten was not popular with the common people; its representations were too starkly simple. It had no face, animal or human, to receive the prayers. It enjoyed a constant but small following among well-educated aristocrats, who revered it for its rays of light that struck the earth and became lions. “The Aten makes the actual physical rays of Amun, who is also Amun-Ra.” Huy could hear the voice of his teacher during the time the class had been taught the intricacies of the various forms the gods took, and their modes of worship. “Lions are the physical representations of the rays of Amun-Ra. Representations. Do you see the difference, boys? Aten and its rays belong to the sun. When the rays strike the earth and become lions, they are representations, without the power of the rays themselves. Every sphinx with its lion’s body is, however, revered for what it represents.” Huy remembered being supremely bored with this nitpicking. Now he wished he had paid more attention to his teacher.

  The cult of the Aten was a solar cult. The rays of the Aten were superior to Amun until they touched the earth, where they became impotent, imprisoned in lions both real and stone. It was not a concept designed to appeal to the unlettered peasant, who brought his gifts and his pleas to the local totem of his town. Why is this important? Huy asked himself. Why am I puzzling over it when all I want to do is sleep away this damnable pain until the evening? Nevertheless, the vision of Pharaoh striding towards the inner court where the Disc filled the sanctuary made him afraid, and he could not rest.

  2

  The small barracks for Anhur and his soldiers was almost finished by the time Huy’s parents and his brother, Heby, accompanied by Ishat’s mother, Hapzefa, alighted from the barge Huy had sent to bring them and walked hesitantly through Huy’s gate. Huy and Ishat were waiting for them under the shade of the pillars fronting the house. Both watched them come with mixed emotions. “They are bunched together like frightened sheep,” Ishat hissed at Huy. “Even Heby looks apprehensive. I hope Merenra is busy pouring plenty of wine!”

  Huy did not answer, his mind all at once filling with his father’s refusal to approach him, even to look at him, after he had been rescued from outside the House of the Dead by Methen and carried home. The Rekhet’s pronouncement that he was free of any demon possession and did not need exorcising had made no change in Hapu’s desertion of his needy son. That was eight years ago, Huy reminded himself as he stepped out into the sun’s glare and prepared to greet his relatives. Father and I have managed to arrive at a mutual respect, yet the extent of my love for him has remained small.

  The little group was slowing. Huy held out his arms to Hapu and embraced him, inhaling the man’s nervous sweat, the slightly harsh underlying odour of his skin, feeling its untreated roughness. “Welcome to my home, Father,” he said lightly as they broke apart. “Life, Health, and Prosperity to you.”

  Hapu acknowledged the polite greeting with a half smile. “Your gate guard might indeed be called a Door Opener of Heaven,” he commented wryly. “Surely no temple guard protected a more beautiful place. I’ve missed you, my son. It’s good to see you strong and happy and blessed by our King.”

  “My turn, Hapu!” Huy’s mother, Itu, said, throwing her arms around Huy as Hapu good-humouredly retreated. “Oh, Huy! How wonderful this is! I’m so proud of you, so happy for you! Wait until I tell Ker and Heruben that you live in greater luxury than they do! They were hoping for an invitation to visit you with us.”

  She pulled away and a glance of complete understanding passed between mother and son. Like Hapu, Huy’s uncle Ker and his aunt Heruben had turned their backs on Huy out of a superstitious fear, but unlike Hapu, Ker had never relented and had transferred his support from Huy to Heby, who now attended the temple school at Mennofer. They will never receive an invitation, Huy vowed silently as he regarded his nine-year-old brother, who was hopping from one bare foot to the other in impatience.

  “You’re shooting up like a tare in a barley field, Heby,” he said. “What are you doing home from school?”

  “It’s Mesore,” the boy replied promptly. “The school has closed in anticipation of the Inundation next month. I’ve been helping Father gather flower seeds from Uncle Ker’s fields, ready for sowing next year.”

  “Oh, of course. I’d forgotten. I’m so old now that my schooldays are a dim memory,” he teased Heby. “And how are you, Hapzefa?”

  The servant had her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. She smiled at Huy. “As well as ever, Master Huy. You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? I’m pleased.” She leaned forward for Huy’s kiss on her cheek. “Who’d have thought that the cheeky little b
oy I had to spank more than once would grow up to be a favourite of His Majesty! Does he visit you often, Huy? What is he like?”

  Huy returned her smile. “He’s a handsome and very vigorous man, but I have only been in his presence once. He has not graced my home, Hapzefa, and for that I am grateful. Having to entertain the One would be a terrifying chore. Come inside, out of the sun, all of you. Merenra has wine waiting, and grape juice for you, Heby.”

  They trooped after him, some of their hesitancy returning as their eyes travelled the cool expanse of the reception hall with its delicate inlaid cedar chairs, its black and white tiled floor, its little low tables surfaced in blue faience bordered in beaten gold leaf. “The walls are still naked,” Huy was forced to remark, hating himself for the weakness of his vanity but unable to prevent the words from slipping over his tongue. “Mayor Mery-neith had them whitewashed so that Ishat and I could have them decorated as we wished.”

  “What will you put on them?” Itu asked Ishat as Merenra glided forward, two jugs in his hands.

  Ishat shrugged. “We haven’t decided yet. Birds in palms and sycamores or entwining vines or fish in the river or scenes of feasting? I’d like something of all of it! Please take the cushions and our steward will serve you.”

  They sank awkwardly onto the pillows, more used to sitting cross-legged on the reed mats Hapzefa wove, and Merenra approached Itu. Cups had already been placed on the individual tables.

  “Mistress, would you like pomegranate or grape wine?” he asked. “The grape is of a good vintage and the pomegranate not too sweet.”

  “Well, Ishat, have you been behaving yourself?” Hapzefa demanded as Itu chose her wine and the steward continued with his rounds, filling the cups and followed by one of Huy’s new servants, who tipped juice into Heby’s goblet.

  Ishat let out a hoot of laughter. “Honestly, Mother, you still think of my arrangement with Huy as improper even though we’ve been living under the same roof together for years. Be at peace! I have my own bedchamber. I’ll show it to you shortly. I work as Huy’s scribe and I’ve begun to oversee the household.” Then she sighed. “It’s becoming a bit unwieldy, what with Anhur and the soldiers and all the new servants. It’s a good thing Merenra knows his job.”

  Huy had been watching his father. Hapu was holding his cup in both hands, taking small, obviously appreciative sips of the good wine, his eyes narrowed as he glanced slowly from one to the other grouped together under Huy’s little pillars. Every word I or Ishat speaks seems to be evidence of a superiority over him and Mother that we do not intend, Huy thought dismally. Ishat is simply making conversation, telling the obligatory small truths of good manners, but they sound like the unspoken arrogance of comparison. Both Ishat and I grew up in poverty, but our days were happy. Food was simple but nourishing. When we were babies, we ran about naked, and when we were older, one coarse kilt apiece was enough clothing. Even when Ishat became a woman and grudgingly left her kilt behind, her sheath was made of the thick linen of the first grade and she didn’t care. Our good fortune has not made us haughty, though now we go about in filmy linen of the twelfth grade and kohl our eyes and screw gems into our earlobes.

  He met Hapu’s eye and to his surprise his father smiled. “I hear great things about you when I must go into the town,” he said. “You have healed many grateful citizens through the power of the gods. I know that you labour long. I’m told that you suffer from continual headaches. I do not begrudge you any of this, Huy. Our King has recognized that you deserve it all.” He gestured briefly around the room.

  Huy felt a surge of irritation. Why would you begrudge it to me anyway, Father? None of it has anything to do with you. Did you defend me against my uncle, your brother? Did you take me in your arms, a terrified and confused boy of twelve, and tell me how you loved me and how everything would be all right? No. You hid like a coward, and now it is up to me to struggle, to find within myself a forgiveness that flickers in and out like a guttering candle.

  “Thank you, Father,” he said. “It’s true that I work hard. After all, I was not raised to be idle.”

  Hapu grunted. “Ker should not have turned his generosity in Heby’s direction,” he muttered, his voice deliberately pitched so low that only Huy could hear it above the chatter of the three women. “I blame myself for that, Huy. I did not behave as a man should. I was afraid of you, I admit it.” He was staring into his cup. “I did not know that the gods had blessed you. Now they bless me with another son, Heby, but I wait for their judgment. Will it fall on Heby? A fever? An infestation of worms, or worse? I’m sorry.”

  Huy’s anger faded. Hitching his cushion closer to Hapu, he rested a hand on his father’s knee. “The gods do not punish honest fear,” he said, matching his tone to his father’s. “Surely it is better than presumption. They expect us to run from the Khatyu, from the malicious demons and their arrows. Not to do so would be spiritual conceit.” He spread his arms. “The gods have rewarded me and I am able to forgive you, Hapu. Most of the time. I try not to look back or forward. My schooling was accomplished by the good graces of the High Priest Ramose at Ra’s temple in Iunu. I work diligently for Atum, the Neb-er-djer. Be at peace, dear Father.”

  Hapu took Huy’s hand and laid it between his two calloused palms. “The Neb-er-djer,” he repeated. “The Universal God. So it is Atum and he alone who gives you the healing visions?”

  “Most of the time the voice belongs to Anubis. Rarely to Ma’at. But the source is always Atum,” Huy replied unwillingly. He did not want to discuss these things, so private and so personal, with his father. Only Ishat, Methen, and the Rekhet invited the comfort of such an unburdening. Fortunately, at that moment Heby spoke up.

  “Ishat said you have soldiers to guard you now,” he said loudly. “I’ve finished my juice, Huy. May I go and talk to them?” His eyes were shining with excitement. “I’ve never dared to speak to the temple guards at Mennofer, it’s not allowed for pupils, and I’ve always wanted to. Have your guards had to kill anyone trespassing in your garden yet?”

  Huy reached across and pulled his ear. “Go to the rear of the compound, where you’ll see some new cells. The largest one belongs to Anhur, my captain. Knock on his door lintel, tell him who you are, and he might be willing to show you his weapons. But, Heby, if he’s busy, don’t whine. Come back into the house. Ishat and I will be showing it to everyone.”

  The boy nodded solemnly, scrambled up, and hurried along the corridor leading to the back of the house.

  Itu sighed. “We won’t be seeing him again for a while,” she commented. “He’s obsessed with everything involving the army, and he wants to be a soldier.”

  “That will pass,” Ishat said, rising. “Now, come with us. Huy, are you ready? I’m longing to show you all over this wondrous estate. Though it is small, it has absolutely everything.” She linked arms with her mother. “Later on we’ll dine together. The cook, Khnit, is preparing a special meal.”

  She led them first towards the stairs, pride and excitement evident in her straight spine under the flowing scarlet linen, her new earrings, fashioned into a likeness of Hathor’s mild bovine face and curved horns, swinging against her strong neck. The exotic and very rare purple gold enhanced her vibrant beauty, and Huy thought that she had never looked more lovely.

  She led them into every bedchamber on the second floor, standing proudly while they exclaimed over the ornate couches dressed in fine linen sheets, the delicately carved cedar tables holding alabaster lamps fluted like lilies, the cosmetics stands with their assortment of pretty ceramic and stone vials, their brushes and copper mirrors shaped, like Ishat’s earrings, in the image of Hathor, goddess of love and beauty. Half the floor in the guest room was taken up by a huge lion’s skin complete with snarling head and outflung claws. Itu bent down and stroked it in awe.

  “It’s a special gift from the King,” Ishat explained. “His Majesty shot it himself, with one arrow from the bow no one else is strong enough to draw.
Or so it’s said.”

  A ray of the Aten became this lion, the embodiment of Amun, Huy thought uneasily, and the King killed it. Every pharaoh delights in hunting lions. Then why do I have a sense of foreboding when I look at this one?

  “How do your house servants clean it?” the ever-practical Hapzefa wanted to know. “It can’t be scrubbed with natron. I suppose all they can do is take it outside and hang it up and beat it.”

  Beat it. Huy suppressed an inward shiver and left the room.

  A narrow stair at the end of the hall led the group directly down into the bathhouse. Here the air was humid and smelled sweet. Itu drew it into her lungs. “You have many kinds of perfumed oils here,” she said to Huy, “and I can detect the odour of lilies.”

  “I keep ben oil spiked with essence of lilies just for you, Mother,” Huy told her. “Whenever I inhale it, I think of you bending over my cot to kiss me good night when I was a child. Perhaps you will spend a night or two here with Ishat and me and enjoy the pampering our staff can give. You deserve it. Now we will step out into the garden.”

  Itu brightened. She was an avid gardener, growing all the vegetables her family ate in tiny terraces around the pool in her own yard. Huy, in his youth, had often flattened the lettuce and cabbages by lying on them so that he could watch the activity in the pond.

  “So much land to water!” Itu said. “It’s hard enough to haul buckets from the field canals just beyond the acacia bushes at home!”