Huy smiled at him while a vision of the Rekhet formed in his mind, her seamed cheeks framed in wisps of grey hair, a comb in her hand. Once, when he had visited her in her modest mud-brick city house, she had untied his braid and combed oil containing crushed mandrake through his hair. Its odour had made him feel both sleepy and alert, and later he had been accused by Anuket of having been with a woman because he smelled of the plant all considered an aphrodisiac. Henenu had asked him why he wore his hair so long, already knowing the answer. He had assured her that it was both to hide the scar Sennefer’s throwing stick had made and so that he might not appear to be a priest with a shaven skull, or a Seer either. She had told him bluntly that it was also a symbol of his virginity. He had been angry often in those days, unable to reconcile himself to the unwanted celibacy the god had thrust upon him, unwilling to explore the equally unwanted gift of Seeing with which he was burdened. She had delivered a stinging lecture, he remembered.
Dear Henenu. Dear Rekhet. She had been dead for five years. Her funeral had been the largest Iunu had ever seen. Everyone she had exorcised, advised, or fashioned amulets of protection for seemed to have journeyed to bid her farewell and share the burial feast. Huy still missed her. She had willed her estate on the lake at Ta-she to him, several miles’ journey into the desert west of Mennofer. There was a large, comfortable house right on the water, and several arouras of incredibly fertile land regularly produced an abundance of grapes, sycamore, and common figs, tiny brown pears, as well as many medicinal herbs and roots she had doubtless needed for those who consulted her; in addition, there was a veritable forest of acacia and castor bushes, even a few olive trees. The lake was full of fish, its verges alive with birds. It was a haven for the wealthy. Succeeding kings had kept a palace there, at Mi-wer, where there was a thriving harem. But the lake was also home to the fertility gods Sobek and Herishef. Their temples and surrounding inns were always busy with female petitioners and pilgrims.
Huy had visited his new holding, and although the house and gardens were entirely private, he found the lake itself noisy as craft of every size and description enjoyed the constant breezes. Besides, he did not want to spend much time close to the King, who moved his court to Mi-wer for most of the summer months of Shemu. Long ago he had stopped worrying at Amunhotep’s silence. In spite of the success of Huy and Amunnefer’s poppy crops, Huy’s clay silos full of grain and flax, his income from the incense caravans, the King continued to provide a regular supply of gold—a sign, Huy believed, that he was still in His Majesty’s good graces. Huy turned over the care of the estate on the lake and its servants to Seshemnefer, and trusted him to keep it running with his usual efficiency.
“Huy? Why are you smiling vacantly at the sky? I asked you whether or not you’ll stop at Iunu to see the Governor and Ishat.”
Huy came to himself. “I’m sorry, Heby. I don’t think so. I’ve been away from my duties for long enough. The needy will be lining up at the gate and my desk will be littered with scrolls.”
They embraced. “Take care of our parents,” Heby reminded him. “My work keeps me in Mennofer. It has been wonderful to have them here.”
“I always do,” Huy responded, mildly irritated. Itu was still content to govern her own little domain of house and garden, and Hapu, though Huy had provided him with a peasant to take over his share of the work in Ker’s perfume fields, still insisted on planting, weeding, and harvesting the fragrant blooms alongside the rest of Ker’s servants. His joints were stiff and often ached. His spine was now permanently bowed. But Huy knew that if his father gave up his labour, he would soon die. Huy understood and forgave Hapu his stubborn pride, even though it sometimes exasperated him.
Anhur touched his shoulder. “The litters are here, Master.”
“Very well.” He turned towards Heby’s gate with relief, Thothhotep beside him. Heby’s house lay in the maze of similarly anonymous dwellings in the northern suburbs of the city, not far from the temple of the goddess Neith. Farther south, the famous and ancient White Walls sheltered the original town and citadel in a forest of green palms and sycamores. The city had long since grown beyond and around it, encompassing the Fine District of Pharaoh, with its huge palace, harem, and carefully tended gardens running down to the river, several other temples with their canals leading to the water—including the temple of Ptah, where Heby plied his trade—a barracks and arsenal, the chaotic naval docks of Peru-nefer, and then the southern suburbs. Nothing but narrow streets and mud-brick walls could be seen from Heby’s gate.
Huy and Thothhotep got onto their separate litters. Anhur and his guards took their stations around them. Behind them, Merenra was ordering the string of servants carrying their chests. It will be wonderful to be home, Huy thought as he twitched the curtains closed against the dust and his bearers set off towards the northern watersteps and Huy’s barge. I wonder how long it will be before Merira insists on providing Heby with a house more suitable for the daughter of the Assistant Treasurer to the King? Heby is entirely happy where he is. I cannot tell what passes through Iupia’s mind when she leans over the gate and looks up and down the crowded lane that passes for a thoroughfare. I refused to See for her, and fortunately Heby had no interest in being told his future. I find it very hard to bear any such knowledge when it relates to those I love. I certainly don’t want to See for my recalcitrant nephew. Can there be anything but trouble ahead for a boy who is disobedient, cheeky, and unwilling to learn?
The late afternoon had become hot and windless. Huy dozed.
With the summer wind blowing strongly out of the north and the river’s current flowing sluggishly towards the Delta, it was a full two days before Huy’s barge nudged gently against his watersteps and the ramp was run out. Leaving Thothhotep and the servants to unload the baggage, he took Anhur and a soldier and approached his gate. The small crowd of Hut-herib’s citizens clustered under the shade of the trees rose to reverence him, and Kar, his gate guard, came forward. “They’ve been waiting for a long time, Master,” he told Huy, jerking an elbow at the gathering, now silent with expectation. “Merenra sent them away, but many of them wandered back. Some of them are quite ill. Do you wish me to close the gate against them once the unloading is complete?”
Huy looked them over carefully. Long ago he and Ishat had decided to allow no more than ten petitioners a day, and indeed not every day, into the garden where he would perform the Seeing and she would sit cross-legged beside him, taking down his words. He had been away from home for almost two weeks, and perhaps thirty people were huddled together, their eyes on him anxiously. As always, he felt a mixture of pity and annoyance while he scanned their faces, but as he recognized three of them, unease threaded itself through his chest. Always a few who return, begging for the healing of a close relative who has contracted a disease or suffered an accident much like the one I Saw and for which the god prescribed. Sometimes it’s worse. Sometimes the vision of a future danger, though avoided by the supplicant, has subsequently fallen on another. It happened with Nasha and Nefer-Mut. The god warned Nasha to stay away from the Street of the Basket Sellers. Nasha was obedient, but it was Nefer-Mut, her mother, who was inadvertently trampled by a donkey and laden cart on that very street. Why? he asked himself for the thousandth time as the cloud of disquiet hardened to apprehension. It is as though the illnesses and accidents, the future events I See, have been foreordained regardless of what is accomplished through me, and if the petitioner avoids them, they must become the fate of another. It hasn’t happened often, but enough to occasionally trouble my nights. I have prayed about this. I have discussed it with Methen, to no avail.
“Let them in,” he told Kar heavily. “They can sit on the grass by the rear entrance and wait until Thothhotep is ready to assist me.” He swung away, walking through the gate and along the sun-dappled path overshadowed by the luxuriant growth of the willows Anab had planted years before. Running beside them was the orderly march of date palms, now fully mature,
and beyond them the narrow canal that brought water to the garden beds which Anhur and his men had dug in those first magical months when he and Ishat were exploring their new domain with all the delight of children. Huy caught brief glimpses of glittering wavelets stirred by the breeze. Ahead, Merenra was emerging between the modest pillars of the front entrance. He stood waiting impassively, looking every inch the perfect chief steward in the folds of his ankle-length sheath, the yellow ribbon tied around his naked skull fluttering against the links of the plain gold chain around his neck.
Huy turned to Anhur. “Organize the people according to need, and keep them together—don’t let them wander about.” He answered Merenra’s obeisance with a nod. “Find Tetiankh and tell him to prepare a dose of poppy. He can do it before he unpacks my belongings. Thothhotep won’t need to be summoned. She’ll have seen the gaggle of supplicants straggling through the gate.”
“Very well, Master. While we were away, a small shipment of carob pods arrived from Shinar. Khnit will hold them until you tell me whether you want them ground for drinking or kept to be added to food. Seshemnefer has sent word that the harvest has begun on your arouras. A scroll bearing the royal seal was delivered by a herald yesterday.”
Huy’s eyebrows rose in shock. “A scroll? For me?” he said stupidly. “I’ve had no direct word from the King in over ten years! What does he want?”
The steward permitted himself a small smile. “I expect you yourself will discover that,” he observed drily. “The herald commanded me to tell you that the King is not in haste, but neither will he wait too long for your reply.”
“What does that mean?” Huy snapped, his heart sinking. He was more than content to remain well out of the One’s direct stare, to be, in effect, comfortably forgotten by the god on the Horus Throne. Amunhotep feared him, that much he knew. The scroll must contain something of extreme importance. “It will have to wait until I’ve dealt with the townspeople and slept away my fatigue,” he finished, worry making him uncharacteristically short with Merenra. “Tell Tetiankh to hurry up with my drug.”
Amunmose was approaching, a stool under his arm and a grin on his face. “Welcome home, Master. I’m glad you’re back. Khnit hasn’t bothered to give us hot food since you left. I trust the marriage festivities were enjoyable?” Huy hardly heard him, and grunted a reply. Undaunted, Amunmose set the stool down within the shade of the rear portico. “Beer will be ready for you when you’ve dealt with them,” he said, waving an arm at the throng on the grass. He went back into the house.
Huy sank onto the stool and waited, his mind already revolving feverishly around the roll of papyrus that must even now be lying on his desk. Presently Tetiankh came hurrying, the small ceramic cup containing the poppy infusion already held out to Huy. Huy drank quickly. Long ago he had ceased to grimace at its bitterness, and he had given up any concern regarding his now total dependence on the opium garnered from his and Amunnefer’s own fields. He had found that, if he took a dose before the Seeings, the headaches he always suffered afterwards lost most of their violence, leaving him more exhausted than in pain. The fact that he could no longer sleep without an added draft, and needed one upon waking, caused him some concern, but his overall health remained excellent, and the face he regarded in the copper mirror every morning as Tetiankh applied his kohl remained clear-eyed and unlined. Nor was there any grey in his thick hair. He still wore it long, stubbornly refusing any hint that such an eccentricity was unsuitable for a man of his station. The poppy did not interfere with the visions. If anything, it enhanced them, bringing a clarity to the voice of Anubis and a crisp edge to the colours and contours of what he Saw. Now, as he set the tiny cup down by his sandalled foot, Thothhotep settled herself on his other side, placing her palette across her thighs and murmuring the prayer to Thoth before uncapping her ink. Huy beckoned the first petitioner to him.
Full dark had fallen before Kar ushered the last person through the gate that gave onto the rough path leading to the town. Huy left the stool and stretched, reaching for the beer Amunmose had brought and downing it thirstily. His head echoed the beat of his heart.
“Ask Khnit to make me a carob drink please, Amunmose,” Thothhotep said, sliding the lid of her palette closed and gathering up the pile of scrolls. “Master, I’m tired. May I leave the copying until tomorrow?”
“Of course. Are you hungry? Amunmose, tell Khnit to heat us some food!” he called after the man disappearing into the dimness of the dusky garden. “The night is very warm,” he commented as they made their way into the house. “Too warm for the month of Payni. Shall we sleep on the roof? Iny has surely unpacked for you by now. Go and tell her to make up a bed for you by one of the wind catchers.” He knew that he had begun to babble. The poppy and the Seeings had made him feel dizzy and weightless, so that he needed to balance himself against the wall of the short passage.
Thothhotep shot him a keen glance over her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Huy? Something is on your mind.”
She only called him by his name if she was concerned for him, Huy knew. He wanted to refuse to acknowledge the scroll sitting in the darkness of his office, to deny its existence until the morning, but he did not think he would be able to sleep until the King’s need had been voiced in his scribe’s soft tones. He blew out his breath. “A message from the King arrived yesterday,” he told her. “I suppose we ought to read it while we wait for the meal.”
They had been about to pass the doorway of the office. She halted, her hand on the lintel, her features, in the light of the two small torches flaring in the passage, full of surprise. She said nothing, only waited for his decision, and after a moment he reluctantly called for a lamp and preceded her into the room. Almost immediately a house servant appeared, set an oil lamp on the desk, bowed, and withdrew. The flame in the pretty bulbous alabaster cup leapt and then steadied to a pleasant glow. Huy and Thothhotep stared at one another in its comforting yellow glimmer, their attention fixed on the thin cylinder of papyrus. Finally, he went around the desk and lowered himself into his chair, feeling the night wind that wafted through the growth beyond the window stir against his naked shoulders. “Read it,” he ordered.
At once she picked it up, examined the seal with its royal insignia of the sedge and the bee, and cracked it apart. Unrolling the scroll, she scanned it quickly then read it aloud.
“‘To the Great Seer Huy son of Hapu, greetings. Upon leaving Mi-wer for a temporary stay in my palace at Mennofer, I require your presence there on a matter of great importance. I shall expect your compliance as soon as possible. Dictated to my Chief Scribe Seti-en on the fifteenth day of the month Payni, in the twenty-third year of my Appearing.’ Seti-en adds his titles.” Thothhotep let the scroll roll up and began to tap it against her chin, her eyes huge in the diffused light. “A matter of great importance, Master. Do you know what His Majesty might mean?”
“No.” Huy stirred, worry making him restless. “As far as I know from Ramose’s letters, there’s no sickness in the divine family. The Horus-in-the-Nest Prince Amunhotep is well. The King’s second son, Thothmes, and his wife the Princess Neferatiri produced the baby Amunemhat, and Thothmes and Second Wife Mutemwia produced another Amunhotep. Thothmes is only seventeen. Neferatiri is sixteen. Mutemwia is comparatively ancient at nineteen.” He forced a laugh. “Yet none of them have expressed a need for me. I did See for the King a long time ago, as you know. I also saw for the Noble Heqareshu, Prince Thothmes’ Nurse. Since then, apart from the odd Governor or two, the nobility has left me alone.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and, placing his elbows on the desk, rested his cheeks in his palms. “If the One left Mi-wer on the fifteenth of this month and the herald with this scroll left at the same time, the King would have arrived at Mennofer on the seventeenth. The herald, having to take the desert track to Iunu and then a boat to Hut-herib, came here yesterday, the eighteenth. I suppose we should go back to Mennofer at once, but in spite of the urgency of the summons I need a
day or two at home to prepare myself for whatever the King might say. This distresses me, Thothhotep. I’m not sure why.”
“Do you want to dictate an answer?”
“No. We’ll just have Tetiankh and Iny repack a few things and leave early on the twenty-first.” He let his forearms drop onto the polished surface of the desk. “Let us eat quickly, and then I must sleep. I’m very tired.” I wanted to savour being home, he thought as they walked to the reception hall, where dishes steamed and Amunmose waited to serve them. I wanted to go and watch the harvest continuing on my land, perhaps even winnow a little myself. I wanted to relish the wait for word of the latest incense caravan. His appetite had left him, but he forced himself to eat, knowing that he needed the nourishment. In spite of the panoply of stars blazing above him as he lay on the roof, and a welcome quiet after the noise of Heby’s street, he did not fall asleep for a long time.
Tetiankh did not question Huy’s order to pack for a return to Mennofer. He asked how long the visit would be. Huy had no answer. I should stay with Heby and Iupia, but I don’t want to, Huy thought dismally as he sat staring moodily at the brilliant shaft of morning light falling through the one clerestory window in his office and forming an irregular square on the tiled floor. Young Amunhotep-Huy is a disruptive influence at the best of times, and I shrink from having to help Heby deal with him when I am preoccupied. Inns are usually rooms above beer houses, noisy and cramped. I suppose we can sleep aboard the barge. It’s warm enough to spend the night on the deck. Or nights. Irritably, he shouted for Amunmose and, when his under steward’s lively face appeared in the doorway, told him to make sure Tetiankh included cushions and blankets among the possessions that would be hauled aboard the vessel. I wish I could talk to Henenu about this, his thoughts ran on. She would calm these irrational fears of mine, give me confidence to face His Majesty. Are you not a Great Seer? she would say, the cowrie shells festooning her hair clicking together as she leaned towards me. Is your name not known in every Egyptian household? Are you not a lesser lord of time? How can you be afraid? He smiled grimly into the quiet room. I miss you, Rekhet, and I can be afraid because everything in me, ka, heart, khu-spirit, is shouting a warning. My life has been too regular, too predictable, for many years. Once more Atum requires a change, and I am not ready.
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