Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  “Where do you think you’re going without me, Master?” Anhur said. “It’s a grand night for cutting a Seer’s throat, with all these wine-addled aristocrats staggering about. They’ve begun to take over the rear garden, you know, but I think there’ll be more falling down and sleeping than copulating.”

  Huy laughed. “Anhur. I’ve hardly seen you since we arrived.”

  “Maybe not, but I’ve been watching you. So has that sister of the Noble Thothmes. I presume you know her well. She’s very beautiful, but the marks of dissipation are on her already. A pity. Now, the other one!” He shook his head in admiration. “The Lady Nasha. So much life bubbling up in her!”

  “What have you been doing with yourself apart from watching me?” Huy asked, deliberately steering his soldier’s thoughts away from Nakht’s family. He loved this blunt man, had loved him ever since Anhur had been sent from Ra’s temple here in Iunu to guard him as he read and pondered the scrolls of the Book of Thoth that were kept at Thoth’s temple in Khmun. Amiable yet frank, Anhur had treated Huy like a son to be respected, protected, and occasionally comforted. Huy allowed him more freedom of speech than any of his other servants. The two of them had begun to walk slowly along the vine-hung path to the watersteps.

  “Keeping an eye on the Mistress as well,” Anhur replied. “Sharing the news with Seneb and the Governor’s other captains. If you go to the temple while you’re here, please take me with you. The temple guards were my friends when I worked there. I’d like to see them again, if you allow it.”

  “Of course.” Huy’s ears had caught a familiar sound, the faint clicking of shells against one another. Peering ahead to where torches flared and guttered to either side of the watersteps, he saw a patch of greyness a short way in under the trees by the path. He pointed. “There’s the Rekhet. I want to talk to her. You can go back into the hall if you like, Anhur. I’m really in no danger here.”

  Anhur grunted. “Only from wine-soaked women, I suppose. I won’t mind sitting in the grass for a while, Master. The air’s cool.”

  Huy nodded and left him, cutting across the path and into the trees. The Rekhet was on a reed mat, her back against the trunk of a palm, her knees drawn up under her white sheath and both shell-hung arms folded across them. Seeing him come forward, her lined face broke into a smile. The cowries pinned into her grey hair clicked softly.

  “Huy! I knew you’d find me tonight. This is a true pleasure. Let me look at you.”

  Huy sank onto the sandy grass beside her. “Henenu,” he said after making sure there was no one within earshot. Few people were given the privilege of knowing her name. She was an exorcist and diviner of spirits and demons, who must on no account discover what she was called. A name held great power, and in the mind of a demon that knowledge could be used to destroy her.

  She scrutinized him slowly in the faint orange light of the torches filtering through the trees. “You are sad,” she said at last, taking his hand in her warm fingers. “Setting your oldest friend free was an effort of the will that has left you empty. Yet the sacrifice is pleasing to Atum. It has given you a new strength, though you are not yet aware of it. How has it been to see Anuket again?”

  The question was put very gently. Huy looked away to where the shadows deepened beyond the reach of the guttering torch flames. How has it been? he thought dismally. It has been as though for years I have drunk directly from the tears of Isis, only to find that they have always been bitter to the taste. It has been like waiting every day for the arrival of a beloved friend who comes at last and drives a dagger into my heart and walks away. It has been a dying.

  “You know,” he answered hoarsely, “I hardly recognized her. Nakht called her a poison to any man, but his words did not penetrate my consciousness at the time.”

  “She was named under unlucky auspices. Do you remember? Many years ago Anuket used to be a chaste and innocent water goddess. In these days she has become a creature of wild licence, worshipped by those who seek satisfaction in the excesses of the flesh. She and the goddess Bastet have much in common. We cannot escape the twist of destiny our name bestows on us.”

  “Nakht was furious,” Huy remembered. “Who told me that? Did she? Did Thothmes? No, it was Ramose. He read the stars and named her. Nakht made him do it over again—the time of her birth, the weight of luck carried by the day, the astrological chart. Ramose did so, but the name did not change. Oh, Henenu! Anuket told me once that she would rather be named Satis, after the goddess who stands at the entrance of the Duat to pour purifying water over each King as he enters the place of the dead. She told me that no totem of the goddess Anuket will ever stand in her bedchamber. And Ramose himself said that he cast her horoscope three times and conjured against the seven Hathors, and tied seven red ribbons about her limbs for seven days to bind any evil bau that might be hovering, but the name had to stand. He and Nakht almost lost their friendship over it. My Anuket was the water goddess, pure and good! What has she to do with the whore goddess of today!” He pulled his hand from Henenu’s grasp and covered his face with both palms, and the gesture served to break the dam behind which his disillusionment had been hiding all evening.

  “Store her away in some deep niche of your mind and forget her,” the Rekhet said. “She is a source of great pain to her family, and particularly to her poor long-suffering husband, who is often on the point of divorcing her. But he loves her, I think. She dons coarse linen and spends many evenings in the beer houses of Weset. At home she drinks wine in which lotus petals have been steeped. She is addicted to the elation the brew gives her. So far I do not think that she has dared to stoop to adultery. She is fortunate to be married to a man of patience, but she is becoming an embarrassment to him. After all, he is the son of the Governor of the Uas sepat, of which Weset is the capital.”

  “Stop!” Huy came close to jamming a hand across her mouth. “Every one of your words hurts me! My love for her is dead as of tonight, but I desire her again in every memory of my days in Nakht’s house! Can nothing save her?”

  Henenu leaned close. “Not you, Huy. Not you. If Nakht had given her to you in marriage as you begged him to do, she would have annihilated your gift and reduced your soul to the level of a grovelling beggar seeking any show of affection from her, no matter how slight. When will you accept your celibacy as a necessary portion of Atum’s gift?”

  “Never! I chose to read the Book of Thoth. That was all. I did not choose celibacy, or my inability to get drunk like everyone else. Those things were secretly added to the result of my choosing.”

  “True. But see what compensations Atum has provided! The King now takes care of you as Egypt’s most valuable living person, and you will continue to gather fame and riches about you as you heal and predict the future and guide those in authority.” She turned away. “Go home to Hut-herib. Keep examining the Book that resides whole and bright in your mind, until understanding comes to you. Pray. Order your life as simply as you are able. I love you, Huy. Continue to write to me.”

  He was dismissed. He kissed her soft, lined cheek and rose. “I love you also, Henenu. Keep the demons away from me.” He thought of asking her for one of her cowrie shells. They were an excellent protection against the malevolence of the unseen world, even those made of clay. Henenu’s were genuine, and fiercely expensive. Instead, he bowed to her in homage to her prescience and retraced his steps to where Anhur was sitting cross-legged in the dimness.

  He yawned as Huy came up to him. “I took a look into the hall a while ago,” he said as he hauled himself to his feet. “The Noble Thothmes and Lady Ishat have gone. The Lady Nasha also. The crowd is thinning out, but so far no one is seeking the barges. Will you sleep now, Huy? You seem very tired.”

  “I am. Let’s see if we can cross the hall without being accosted.”

  At the foot of the stairs, they parted. There had been no sign of Anuket or her husband, to Huy’s relief. He said good night to his captain, mounted the stairs, and entered hi
s own room. Tetiankh was asleep on his pallet by the couch and Huy did not wake him to be washed. Quickly, he threw off his clothes, removed his jewellery, and crawled onto his couch, blowing out the lamp as he did so. Darkness and silence descended. They are making love, Thothmes and Ishat, he thought as he turned on his side and closed his eyes. I must not imagine it. He will make her happy, and that is all that matters. My dearest Ishat, playmate of my childhood, friend of my youth, your destiny is a pleasant one. Unlike Anuket’s. He groaned. What shall I say to her tomorrow? he wondered. She will hunt for me, I know it. The image of Anuket hunting him was somehow sinister, and Huy was aware of being glad that sleep was claiming him at last.

  He woke, feeling grimy and enervated, when Tetiankh began to raise the reed window hangings. Cool morning air flowed into the room. Sitting up, Huy reached for the fresh water his body servant had placed beside the couch and drank rapidly. “No food, Tetiankh?” he wanted to know.

  The man began to gather up Huy’s soiled clothes. “A meal has been set out in the garden for those who were unable to get to their litters or barges last night,” Tetiankh told him. “It’s mostly a selection from the feast, with today’s bread and milk added. If you will go down to the bathhouse, Master, and secure a place, I shall take these to the washerman, put your jewellery away, and join you at once.”

  “There’s a queue in the bathhouse?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” He grinned across at Huy. “Sore heads and grass-stained kilts are the least of it. Ptahhotep has had to send for more natron and oil. He miscalculated the number of guests who would be unable to go to their homes. Dismiss me, Master.”

  Huy did so, wrapped himself in a sheet from the couch, and cautiously let himself out into the passage. It was empty. Padding barefooted along it, he descended the rear stairs and entered the bathhouse. It was crowded with naked bodies and harried servants but curiously quiet. The bathing slabs were all occupied. The room was pleasantly humid and redolent with the scents of perfumed oils, jasmine, and lilies, Huy decided, inhaling deeply. Ptahhotep and his assistant steward stood in the doorway leading to the interior of the house, ready to answer any demand. Huy glanced towards the garden. Under the shade of the huge sycamores, the benches were all occupied by recumbent figures being shaved or oiled. Huy wondered whether he should grab up some natron and go to the river to wash himself. He was about to approach the salt dishes when someone touched his arm. Turning, he found Anuket’s husband, Amunnefer, smiling at him.

  “Good morning, Huy,” Amunnefer greeted him loudly and cheerfully. Several people standing close by winced and moved away. “I see by your eyes that you are suffering no ill effects from Nakht’s excellent wine. Neither am I. I drink very little.”

  Unlike your wife, Huy thought, smiling back.

  “I am never drunk,” he replied. “But I am in need of hot water.” He was suddenly conscious of the braid that had worked loose in the night to spread strands of unruly hair down his back and curling onto his collarbones. He had slept fully painted and knew that his cheeks must be streaked with black kohl. He rubbed at them ineffectually. “Forgive my appearance, noble one. I did not wake my servant to wash me last night.”

  “You are a considerate man.” Amunnefer indicated the stone shelf that ran around the bathhouse walls, where the jars of oil and natron were kept. “Let’s sit down and talk while we wait for a turn on the slabs. ‘Considerate’ was a word my wife often used to describe you,” he went on as they settled rather uncomfortably on the damp ledge. “She spoke often of the times when you stayed in this house and kept her company in the herb room while she wove her garlands. It’s a pity that she no longer follows that blessed pursuit. I believe that she was very adept.”

  Those fingers moving so surely among the green stems scattered in her lap and all around her on the floor will haunt me forever if I let them, Huy thought.

  “Yes, she was,” he agreed aloud. “I was in love with her, helplessly and hopelessly, for years, you know.” He had not meant to say that, but Amunnefer had an air of guileless warmth about him that quickly melted any barrier between himself and another. Too late, Huy recognized it as an admirable attribute for a future Governor.

  Amunnefer laughed. “Yes, I do know. She told me. What agonies we suffer in the throes of young love, don’t we, Huy? It’s a good thing that we grow up and away from such dangers. The sober affection that grows slowly in a marital union lasts much longer and is far less uncomfortable.”

  Ruthlessly, Huy quashed the urge to ask him how much he loved Anuket, how he could tolerate the shame of her behaviour day after day, how and when such behaviour had come about. Instead he nodded. “So I am told, not having a wife myself. But tell me about your venture into poppy growing, noble one. My interest is larger than my investment of gold.”

  “I, or now I should say ‘we,’ have ten arouras of land south of Weset—on the east bank, of course, just out of reach of the Inundation—and another ten arouras on the verge of the lake at the oasis of Ta-she, in the desert west of Mennofer. His Majesty was anxious that Egypt should begin to produce her own drug. Every physician wants a constant supply of it, of course, and importing it from Keftiu and the Bend of Naharin, far to the northeast, was becoming very expensive for His Majesty. That’s why he has allowed me to attempt cultivation.” He grimaced ruefully. “His Majesty deeded the arouras to me. They were khato, and had reverted to the Horus Throne. But I had to buy the seeds and the knowledge of two foreign overseers myself. No one is as rich as Pharaoh! The sowing was done two years ago, after the land had been thoroughly cleared. The overseers send me reports every week. I am learning that the handling of the mature plants and the extraction of the drug is a delicate business. The quality is not as potent as the imported poppy—not yet, anyway. But you’ve made a very wise investment that should result in much gold for you, me, and the Horus Throne.”

  “When is the harvest?”

  “Flowers appear during Epophi, eight months from the sowing, but the crop at Ta-she was sown first. The sowings are staggered so that we do not have to wait for our reward! If you are ever in Weset, come and see the arouras for yourself. I spend too much time there at the moment. I’m anxious that no calamity takes our profit away from us.”

  “In the meantime, the King will continue to supply me with the drug.”

  Amunnefer shot him a sympathetic glance. “Everyone knows how much pain you suffer after a Seeing. The King told me how concerned for you he was when you almost collapsed in his presence after the marvellous predictions you made for him.”

  “He did?” Huy was astonished. He and Ishat had been living hand to mouth on a noisy street in Hut-herib when the King, on his way to make war on the recalcitrant tribes of Rethennu, had summoned Huy to See for him. Every prediction Atum had given Huy for the King had come to pass, but no thanks had arrived from His Majesty Amunhotep the Second for months. Huy had resigned himself to the King’s ingratitude and had believed himself forgotten until his and Ishat’s fortunes had been changed overnight by His Majesty’s decree.

  “He did. Would you like me to send you copies of the letters I receive from the overseers of the poppy fields?”

  “Yes, indeed! I’ll be anxious to follow the progress of our venture.” Huy stood and bowed. “There are bathing slabs available now and my servant is waiting to wash me. I thank you for allowing me to entrust you with my gold, noble one, and I wish us both great success. Greet Anuket for me. I may not have an opportunity to speak with her before I leave Iunu.”

  “Oh, we’ll be here for a few days yet,” Amunnefer replied, “and Thothmes tells me that you and he will be visiting your old school tomorrow. Anuket will doubtless be available to you this afternoon.”

  Huy’s heart sank. Bowing again, this time in agreement, he took the few steps to the nearest slab, dropped the sheet, and beckoned Tetiankh. So I will not be able to avoid her after all, he thought as Tetiankh untied what was left of his braid and warm water began to cascade
over him. What am I to say to her? Will she see the disenchantment in my eyes and be distressed? I need Ishat’s sharp tongue to remind me how shabbily I was treated. Surely she would tell me not to waste any sympathy on the bitch because sympathy would weaken me when facing her. Huy smiled ruefully as Ishat’s voice echoed scornfully in his mind.

  Later, shaved, oiled, and clothed in fresh linen, he made his way to the rear garden, where a long table had been set up and its contents covered with a cloth. Servants waited behind it to serve the guests. Huy had his plate filled with cold duck, bread, and a few dried figs, picked up a cup of beer, and, looking about for a shady spot, saw Nasha sitting by the acacia hedge with cushions piled around her and her body servant kneeling at her side, wringing water from a piece of linen. Huy approached her cautiously, and seeing him come, she raised a languid hand. “Sit by me if you like, Huy, but don’t speak above a whisper and try to eat quietly. I’m so ill this morning that I couldn’t even bear to have my hair combed. I should have stayed in my room, but it stinks of wine fumes and my own body. Gods, how stupid I am! Still, it was a marvellous marriage feast, wasn’t it?”

  Huy lowered himself onto one of the cushions. Nasha was peering at him through swollen, slitted eyes. The servant pressed the damp linen to her forehead and she sighed. “It doesn’t help much. I took a dose of castor oil when I crawled off my couch, and I’ve been drinking the infusion of fenugreek our physician gave me to cleanse my stomach and calm my liver, but I still feel like a week-old corpse. The physician is very busy this morning. Father is a little stronger. Having Thothmes married at last has been a relief to him, seeing that I am almost certainly condemned to remain a virgin for the rest of my life. Give me a sip of your beer. I’m still thirsty even though I’ve drunk the river dry. And keep that plate away from me—the smell of the duck is nauseating.”